


lead us all to glory

by Beans (provetheworst)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fantasy Atheism, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, M/M, Slow Burn, byleth is gay and repressed, cf route sylvix is a lot to think about imo, divine pulse abuse, just making a mess out of time, only felix gets recruited pre-timeskip, repeated character death, the black eagles invent communism together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/Beans
Summary: Byleth rubs at her eyes, looking around the darkened library. The candle she was reading by has burned nearly to its base, wax pooled around it and spilling onto the table. The room's usual smells - beeswax from the candles, dust, old leather and dry paper - are overlaid by smoke as the candle gutters. Her mouth feels dry and her neck is stiff. "I fell asleep.""What were you reading that kept you here so late?"Byleth looks down at the book, a heavy leatherbound volume with a title embossed in gold leaf. The book is written in Dagdan and is probably the closest to critical of the Church of Seiros that Seteth will allow. Maybe he doesn't speak much Dagdan and doesn't realize some of what the book implies about his faith, or maybe someone snuck it in and it just hasn't been found yet. She hesitates a moment before answering with, "A history of the church.""Ah." Edelgard paces a circle, arms crossed. "Please don't take offense at this question, but - Professor, are you a believer?"Byleth thinks about the young girl with green hair who she sees in her dreams. "No." She can hear her voice scolding her, and ignores it. "No, I'm not."
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra - Relationship, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 238





	1. Chapter 1

"What was the reason? Why were you driven to become so strong?" Felix asks. His hair is damp with sweat, bangs plastered to his forehead.

Byleth's own hair is a mess after their sparring match. Maybe she should take inspiration from her student and put it in a bun. She doesn't know how, though, and won't ask. So her hair stays down.

She thinks a moment longer before answering. Recently, she's started having new motivations and drives - protecting her students, becoming a better teacher, pushing her own limits to test where they lie. Last week, deep into the night, she heard Edelgard sobbing from a nightmare; that's a reason, too, to be strong. To prevent the things Edelgard told her from happening to anyone else ever again. Saying any of that would be dishonest to her past. Before coming here, Byleth had one reason: "To survive."

They speak a little longer as they're leaving the training grounds, and Byleth suddenly realizes something she can do that she hasn't done before.

"Felix," she says, interrupting him mid-sentence. He looks affronted. She might laugh, but doesn't. "You should join the Black Eagles."

"I'd thought of asking," he says. "If it means I get to watch you fight more often, I'll do it."

"Thank you. Welcome. You know what time classes start." She reaches out a hand. Felix stares for a moment before shaking it. After a pause, she says: "You can start tomorrow if you want."

"So soon." Felix tilts his head to one side for a moment before nodding, instead. He puts his hands on his hips. "All right. Tomorrow it is. Is there any reading I should be aware of?"

Byleth looks off into the distance. She hasn't been a Professor for very long and still isn't sure she's good at the classroom portions. Fighting, training, horseback riding and flying lessons - these she can handle. Homework has taken getting used to. "I don't remember."

"I'll ... ask one of your students." Felix pauses. "Don't make me regret accepting your invitation."

-

Rhea puts her and her students on a mission to subdue a rebellious noble. Afterwards, she tells Byleth it was to teach them a lesson. To show them what happens to those who point their blades to the heavens.

And Byleth thinks Rhea has made a grave mistake, hiring her. Maybe not at the outset, but now, making her students subdue civilians as part of their civic duty, making them put an end to a grieving man - Jeralt warns her, every now and then, about trusting Rhea.

Byleth does not. Her father's advice has proven historically sound on the battlefield; why not here, too.

When she's not teaching, Byleth begins to spend more and more time in the library or on the training grounds. She still finds time to eat and share tea with her students, of course, but she needs to know more. About Fodlan's history, about the nobility, about the systems of power in place. About the Church and about Rhea herself. She tries asking Cyril but he doesn't trust her at all so she gives up rather than attempt to win him over. Seteth is no more forthcoming. Manuela, at least, is willing to share her faith, and Byleth tries to glean what she can from there.

She is not lifting her blade to the heavens just yet, but rather searching for the weak point - just where to strike to pierce the sky.

Seteth controls the library's contents so tightly, and Tomas seems so over-eager to help, that Byleth has some difficulty trying to find quite what she seeks. Probably it doesn't exist, suppressed as heresy. If it does exist, it must be elsewhere.

And so on missions to route bandits or aid nearby villages, Byleth searches, too, as emotions and ideas begin to crystallize in her mind

-

"Professor." Edelgard nudges her shoulder, and Byleth starts awake.

"Ah. Good - evening?"

"It's nearly morning." 

Byleth rubs at her eyes, looking around the darkened library. The candle she was reading by has burned nearly to its base, wax pooled around it and spilling onto the table. The room's usual smells - beeswax from the candles, dust, old leather and dry paper - are overlaid by smoke as the candle gutters. Her mouth feels dry and her neck is stiff. "I fell asleep."

"What were you reading that kept you here so late?"

Byleth looks down at the book, a heavy leatherbound volume with a title embossed in gold leaf. The book is written in Dagdan and is probably the closest to critical of the Church of Seiros that Seteth will allow. Maybe he doesn't speak much Dagdan and doesn't realize some of what the book implies about his faith, or maybe someone snuck it in and it just hasn't been found yet. She hesitates a moment before answering with, "A history of the church."

"Ah." Edelgard paces a circle, arms crossed. "Please don't take offense at this question, but - Professor, are you a believer?"

Byleth thinks about the young girl with green hair who she sees in her dreams. "No." She can hear her voice scolding her, and ignores it. "No, I'm not."

"Most people aren't so open in saying such things," Edelgard tells her. "I remember hearing you were raised outside the church."

A nod.

"The nobles of Fodlan don't get the opportunity to profess beliefs like yours often," Edelgard says. She stares off at a point to her left. Her voice lowers, careful. "The Archbishop showed us why not so long ago."

"Yes."

"The library isn't the best place to research, if you're ..." Edelgard seems to search for words. She's usually quite good at public speaking and at conversation in general, so the hesitance makes Byleth pay closer attention. "If you're interested in history, you should try asking Hubert. He may be able to procure - more nuanced material."

"All right."

"Right. Good."

"What are you doing awake?" Byleth asks, and immediately regrets it on seeing Edelgard's reaction - the faintest flicker of expression, a nuance she might not have noticed before the green-haired girl woke up inside her. "Ah. I'm sorry. I should go to sleep."

"You don't have much longer. It's nearly dawn."

"Even so," Byleth says. She presses her fingers against the corners of her eyes, trying to suppress a yawn and failing. "We should ... discuss this further. At some point. After I've spoken to Hubert, maybe."

Edelgard's expression tightens minutely before going thoughtful, and she nods. "I would like that."

"Are you all right?" Byleth asks, belatedly. Edelgard nods, then leaves, and neither of them says more.

-

The history of Fodlan as told in books is different than the history Byleth has lived. Conflicts between nobles barely mention the people fighting for them. An army is more than its generals, a mercenary band more than its representatives or most famous members. The books seem to pass this over entirely.

Sometimes in the library Ashe, not even in her house, will tell her at great and excited length about stories of King Loog. She does like how neatly everything works in the stories. It's appealing: a wonderful model to inspire children to throw themselves into battle to die for saints long gone from the world.

Crests, too, are a lovely little tool: she's seen the Relic that Catherine wields and remains unimpressed. It's strong, but Byleth can think of a dozen ways to take her down. All it takes to topple the strong is the weak working together. Enough people can overpower anyone.

She hopes this is what they'll take away from her missions but refuses to state it outright. Just in case. She's still finding the lines where heresy resides.

Byleth does not want to be here, but she agreed and the Church pays her generously and, hopefully, hopefully, she can leave soon. If she's prickly enough to Rhea, maybe she can convince the Archbishop to dismiss her from the position and let her and Jeralt get back to the field.

At least sometimes she gets to bring her students along on missions that feel like her old mercenary work: routing bandits, mostly, and training exercises with knights from across the continent. She tries, as best she can, to avoid taking assignments that would have her chasing down deserters. If they want to run, let them.

Dorothea is the first to comment. "Professor," she says, leaning forward slightly over tea, her arms crossed on the little table. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"You're keeping us from fighting civilians on purpose, aren't you."

Byleth shrugs. "Why not?"

"No, it's ... I appreciate it. I'm just surprised, is all. We have to go further out of our way than the other Houses a lot of the time. I really am grateful. I hate to think of ..." Dorothea pauses. Usually she's composed, well-spoken, but something has her hesitating. Byleth watches her intently. "When we fought Lord Lonato. I hated it. Sometimes I think I never should have come here, but with you as my teacher, I think it was the right choice."

"Growing up," Byleth says, sipping at her own cup of tea, "I sometimes think about how I could have been one of those people. Dying in a conflict like that."

"You were a mercenary, weren't you? You could have died any time."

"Yes." Byleth pauses. "But I would have been dying on my own terms. I chose to fight, always. And I suppose the people we fought then chose, too, but ... there's something different, I think, between being a mercenary and serving a noble or a lord who says you owe them your loyalty."

"You know, Edelgard says she wants to eliminate the nobility when she becomes emperor," Dorothea says, voice lowered even further than before. "That she wants people to rise and fall by their own merits."

Byleth looks down at her tea cup and sees her own blank stare reflected there. She wets her lips with her tongue, then takes a sip and doesn't look up again.

"Professor?" Dorothea frowns slightly. "_I_ think it's a good idea."

"It is," Byleth agrees quickly. "It is. Thank you for telling me."

"You're not going to -"

"I won't speak of it to anyone else," Byleth says, meeting Dorothea's eyes again, unflinching. "Unless she wants me to. I'll protect those ideals."

Dorothea's laugh is light and joyful. "You're so gallant sometimes, Professor. It's surprising. I didn't know if you believed in anything when the school year began, and now here you are, swearing to protect an idea you literally just heard about. If I didn't know better, I'd be a little worried at how easy you are to sway."

Byleth twitches the corners of her mouth up in an attempt to be reassuring. "That's not it. We're both commoners, you and I. Surely you've imagined a - a world like that."

"Without nobles."

"Yes. Exactly that."

Dorothea hums pleasantly, sitting back in her chair, then pouring herself just a little more tea. "I just wonder if Edelgard's vision of that is the same as ours."

-

Byleth sits in a courtyard. A Golden Deer student, Ignatz, is painting, and she almost leaves just to avoid getting worked into the painting but decides to stay very still instead.

An old slash pine leans precariously in a way it's probably leaned for hundreds of years. Something left a gash in its bark - an arrow, maybe, or someone practicing their sword strikes on a tree. Sap wells from the gash. An ant struggles through the sap, legs stuck.

Byleth thinks about freeing it. Instead, she spends hours watching the sap flow gradually overtake it, leaving it enveloped by liquid gold. The light changes as the afternoon wears on, and the color of the sap changes with it.

Ignatz leaves eventually.

Byleth wonders if she is the ant, then decides to discard the metaphor immediately instead. She could go, if she wanted. She could.

That evening, Edelgard asks to spar before dinner, and Byleth thinks about how she could leave and doesn't.

She watches the way Edelgard swings an axe. Her uniform hides how strong she is, muscles concealed by black and gold. Byleth does not think any deeper on the matter. Steps out of the way, says, "You should ride a wyvern. It would suit you on the battlefield."

Edelgard startles. "You think so?"

Byleth takes the opening, wrenching the axe from Edelgard's hands, tackling her to the ground just to prove her victory. She pauses there a moment, looking down. Edelgard meets her gaze, as always. "Yes."

Edelgard laughs, and takes Byleth's hand when offered, pulling herself back to her feet. "All right, then. Shall you teach me to ride?"

"I could, but - I'd recommend asking Seteth, actually."

Edelgard struggles beneath her, managing to throw Byleth off, and goes scrambling for her axe again. "Seteth."

Reacting quickly, Byleth throws her shoulder into Edelgard's side, knocking her down before she can retrieve her weapon. She stands over her student, a boot hovering over her chest. "You can learn from anyone. You should see his techniques. Just in case."

"Sometimes I think I understand you, then I realize I truly don't." Edelgard breathes heavily beneath her, and Byleth steps back, allowing her back to her feet. Edelgard stands, and this time, when she goes for her axe, all she does is go to put it away. "I hope one day I will."

Byleth does not say, _I hope so too._ Instead Byleth nods, and as they leave the training grounds she turns to go to the greenhouse alone and digs her hands in the dirt, pulling weeds from the rich soil. She planted seeds a week ago, and they have yet to sprout but she wants to make sure they'll have room to grow.

-

Byleth has only asked a few of her students to accompany her to Fraldarius territory, as a favor to Felix, when Sylvain approaches her.

"Hey, Professor." He grins at her, leaning against the wall as casual as can be. "I hear you're going on a little vacation."

"It's not a vacation."

Sylvain laughs. "Yeesh. I know it's not a literal - you're going to Faerghus, right?"

Byleth nods.

"Can I come with?" Sylvain pauses. "I know you probably don't want me in your house or anything, even though I'd definitely accept an invitaiton, if you know what I mean, but -"

Byleth rests her head on her fist, thinking. "It's probably better for everyone if you stay in Hanneman's class. Don't think I can't guess why you want to join mine."

"Fine, fine." Sylvain laughs, seeming easy and relaxed as ever. (Sothis whispers a reminder that such rejection must be unpleasant, even for him, that this boy is just very good at hiding things and well accustomed to rejection and pain.) "But can I come along on this assignment anyway?"

Byleth nods again. "We're leaving in two days."

"Two days, great. Got it. I'll be there, Professor!" He bows in mock salute and then saunters off, whistling to himself. Sometimes he and Felix talk, Byleth knows, and she's seen them spar together occasionally at the training grounds. Sometimes Felix complains about Sylvain not taking his classes seriously enough.

For a moment, she regrets not recruiting him, then decides that it really is for the best: someone else can deal with Sylvain's issues and womanizing. She never got any formal training in being a professor, and taking on any more students than she already has would threaten the tenuous balance she's managed to make of her time and efforts working with everyone.

Besides, she thinks she may already be well on her way to befriending at least a few of her current students. The idea of starting from zero with someone new is a little intimidating. 

True to his word, Sylvain is there in two days time, accompanying them on the journey through Faerghus to Fraldarius territory.

Felix takes her aside, briefly, on the long march north - "Why is he here?"

"He asked to come."

For a moment, Felix freezes, his expression pinched and perplexed. Then he exhales, and some tension seems to ebb away. "Did he really?"

She nods, and Felix says nothing more, eventually peeling off on his own. He ends up roped into a conversation with Ferdinand, the two of them getting into a lively argument that Byleth ignores almost completely except to make sure they don't murder each other.

Edelgard and Hubert both seem happy with the chance to visit the area, and Byleth talks with them, occasionally, about features of the landscape, places that would be good to set ambushes, areas that might be useful to place traps should they encounter any bandits on the way. Analyzing the area with them this way - new territory, much different from the immediate surrounds of Garreg Mach - is almost fun. The rest of the Black Eagles take part in the conversation off and on, but mostly it's the three of them.

"The land here is harsh," Byleth says, "but look." She nods toward a handful of mushrooms. "Those are edible if you cook them with salt. You get sick if you eat them without, though. Lots of mucus. It's not pleasant."

"I see," Hubert says. "What else is edible?"

So Byleth introduces them to a particular sort of berry, and to its near cousin that can kill; to a four-leafed vine that causes a terrible rash; to a leafy plant that tastes slightly nutty and pairs well with oil and vinegar.

Hubert and Edelgard have spent so much time learning to be leaders and generals that they don't know much about the land, and especially not the land here. Byleth feels a sneaking sense of pride in being able to show them this.

Of course Hubert is especially interested in the things that cause sickness. He tries to feign as if he's only interested to protect Lady Edelgard and the troops, but Byleth knows better, and Hubert knows she knows better, and neither of them says anything about it. She'll give him tools for his craft, for his sake and for Edelgard's, without compunction. Just because Edelgard is going to rule the Adrestian Empire does not mean there's nothing to be gained from knowing Faerghus' territory.

She lets herself pretend for a little while that they're new recruits to her father's mercenary band, runaway nobles looking for adventure. Pretends that they'll stick around for years and become part of the team and not go back to the Empire when the year is done, that she can just - be friends with them for a very long time.

Then Byleth wonders if any of the mercenaries she used to work with thought of her as a friend. A few of the old-timers doted on her. There's no space for regret for what she couldn't feel, and besides, she spots a particular sort of grass that's useful for making rope that she points out to Hubert and Edelgard and decides maybe she'll give them more lessons in living off the land when they get back to Garreg Mach, just because she wants to, even if it's not the most immediately obviously useful set of knowledge for a future emperor and her retainer to have.

She can imagine Caspar and Petra taking well to such lessons. Felix probably knows all of it already. Ferdinand will be indignant, Dorothea studious but slightly frustrated, Bernadetta terrified, Linhardt bored and disinterested. But as long as she has the interest of a few, she thinks it could be worth it.

Rodrigue is already in the center of town when they arrive, his knights barely holding against the bandits. The Black Eagles, serving as reinforcements, make quick work of them - there are no more civilian casualties after they arrive.

Sylvain, for his part, seems focused and dutiful. His skill on horseback is impressive, and he handles his lance with ease. He lacks a little something in commanding his batallion, and Byleth almost starts planning some remedial work before reminding herself that she is not inviting him to her class. Still: he's handy to have around, and she doesn't have to bend time to help him even once.

"It's a shame you couldn't have taught Dimitri's class," Rodrigue tells Byleth as they ride to the Fraldarius household. "Did you know, Felix wrote letters for weeks about your swordfighting before he joined your class."

"Really." Byleth hadn't known Felix wrote letters home to his family at all.

"Still, I think it's good for him to get to know the students from Adrestia." Rodrigue watches the road as they ride. Felix is hanging back, talking to Bernadetta, stridently avoiding his father. "Relations with the empire are important even this far northeast, and having these connections will serve him well when he inherits."

Though Byleth didn't know about the letters, she does know how little Felix wants to inherit, and how heavy the pressure weighs on him. She's gathered that much. She does not mention this. Instead, she says, "Well, I'm glad it worked out."

"He can be - difficult," Rodrigue says. "Ever since ... well, he can be difficult. As I said. I hope he isn't too much trouble for you."

"Not at all."

"Please watch over him," Rodrigue says, suddenly urgent. "And Dimitri. I know he's not your responsibility, but should it ever come to it - I hope it's not too much to ask that you at least consider keeping them safe."

"I'm not from the Kingdom," Byleth says. "And I don't know what the future will hold."

Rodrigue's grip on his horse's reins tightens. "I see."

"As long as they're students at the Academy, as long as I'm teaching there, I'll do my best," Byleth eventually relents. Still: she is a mercenary with no fixed loyalty. Even if she is finally learning about friendship, she's never been much of one for loyalty. She doesn't want Felix or Dimitri or any of the students at the Academy to die, but if she's hired to fight against them, or if her opinion of the church brings them into conflict - she won't hesitate. She hopes she won't hesitate. Before Sothis, she knows she wouldn't have. ("How awful!" Sothis cries out from the back of her mind. "You're like a beast! Could you really kill them, just like that? Who are you?")

"You were a mercenary, weren't you?"

"Yes," Byleth says. Her face remains impassive. "I hope to return to the job one day. That's why I won't make a promise for any longer than that. I don't want to tell you something I can't guarantee."

Rodrigue shakes his head, looking thoughtful. "Well, you'll never make for a diplomat."

A few days later, they do some training drills with the Fraldarius knights, and after that they finally head back to Garreg Mach. Sylvain stays behind for an extra day with the excuse that he needs to talk about something with Rodrigue. He's not Byleth's responsibility, so she allows it.

Felix leaves with the rest of her class, and spends half of the return ride - any time Byleth isn't talking to another student, nearly - alternately ranting about Sylvain wasting his time with them instead of doing drills with his own class, or else seeming quietly pleased that Sylvain had helped and telling her about the history of the different noble families in the region - Galatea, Fraldarius, Blaiddyd, Gautier. He never asks what his father spoke to her about.

When they get back to Garreg Mach, Felix is back to his usual taciturn self, and Byleth doesn't push.

-

The day after they return, she invites Edelgard to tea.

"So, Professor, what did you think of Faerghus?"

"It's cold," Byleth states simply. Edelgard laughs. "Cold and boring. I've been there before."

"Don't let Dimitri hear you say that." Edelgard smiles into her teacup. "I should take you to Enbarr. I wonder what you would make of it."

"I've visited." Byleth pauses. "I don't think I thought much of it. There are a lot of people. A lot of buildings. The stables seemed well-tended."

"That is one way to describe it." Edelgard shakes her head, thoughtful. "So, then, what _was_ your favorite place you saw in your travels as a mercenary?"

Byleth looks down at her hands, folded neatly on the table, and thinks over all the years she spent as a mercenary, crisscrossing Fodlan in pursuit of work and money. Nothing sticks out strongly, much to Sothis' chagrin. Though Sothis does start laughing when she considers saying _wherever you are,_ so she avoids that one - it sounds like something out of a storybook for children, not anything one person would actually say to another. So says Sothis. Byleth decides to trust her on this one.

"Professor?"

"I don't think I have a favorite place," Byleth finally admits. "I don't know what would make one place better than another. Some parts of Fodlan have better game or better fishing or more fertile fields. I think anywhere people can live is fine. I don't know how to pick a favorite."

Edelgard frowns, very slightly, looking almost worried.

"I think maybe Remire Village," Byleth decides. "The people there were -" She falters. "Kind. Yes. And that's where I met you. And Dimitri and Claude, of course. If not for Remire, I wouldn't be here. So I suppose that's my favorite place."

"I see." Expression softening, Edelgard takes another sip of tea. "It's strange. Sometimes it feels like you hardly existed before you met me."

Her brow furrows almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry."

"No, I should apologize. That was cruel of me." Edelgard shakes her head. "If I caused offense - well, clearly I did. And for that I am sorry."

"Not - offense," Byleth tries. "Not precisely. I just wish I had better answers for you. Sometimes it feels like my life before coming here was a strange dream. As if I spent years sleepwalking, and now I am finally awake."

That prompts Edelgard to lean forward with interest, though she stays quiet.

Byleth waves a hand dismissively. "I can't explain it. But I'll try and think more about my favorite place. I'll give you a better answer some day."

"Well. Thank you."

"I like spicy food," Byleth adds, uselessly. "I can tell you that much." She doesn't mention that she only decided this within the past six months, since her arrival at the monastery: that before that, she ate whatever she was offered, so long as it would give her energy and wasn't spoiled.

She wants, unreasonably, to make a good impression, as if that matters more than simply doing her job. 

-

"We should..." Felix is staring at the ground. This upcoming mission is deepening the shadows under his eyes. It's nearly midnight, now, at the training grounds.

"Yes?"

"We should ask for Sylvain's support on this mission. He should be there."

"To fight his own brother?" Byleth feels her brows pulling together with her confusion.

"Maybe I'm wrong." Felix shakes his head. The practice blade he's been using snaps and the training dummy cracks and slumps to the ground. "You think I'm wrong."

"People don't like to hurt their own family members."

Felix stares at her for a long time. "Sometimes they do."

Byleth doesn't know what to make of that. "I can ask him."

Sylvain accepts. In the end he stabs a wooden spear through Miklan's heart himself, charging ahead on his horse, though it takes all of them to subdue the awful beast his brother becomes.

-

Mid-month, they go to the southern border of the Empire for a training exercise with forces from Brigid. There are rooms available in a port town, but Byleth decides to camp out, instead, because her students are mostly nobles, and they need to learn a little more about the world. The inn has learning potential, too, but Byleth wants the outside, wants the world itself spread out before them.

"Professor, surely this is unbefitting of a noble such as myself - not to mention the Imperial princess herself," Ferdinand hastily adds, fumbling as he tries to build a tent for himself. He's got a number of sticks that keep falling over and has made nearly no progress, and Byleth thinks maybe she'll let him sleep on the ground under an oilcloth and that pile of sticks.

"I must admit, I'd thought the same," Hubert says, far more ominously. His tent is already finished, and he's looming over Ferdinand smirking to himself.

"But?" Byleth prompts.

Hubert stares at her.

"Oh, you wanted me to explain." Byleth cants her head to the side, and when Hubert nods, she rests her head on her hand, thoughtful. "Well, we could have stayed in town, or we could have brought more supplies. But not all soldiers get that sort of luck all the time. Making camp isn't always going to be easy and you might not always have people to do it for you."

Ferdinand's erstwhile structure collapses again, and he goes with it, sitting down on the ground with a pout. "Why ever not? I am Ferdinand von Aegir! When would I ever need to know any of this?"

"You never know," Byleth tells him. "You could get separated from your battalion -"

"You speak as if you expect me to ever actually go to war."

Byleth shrugs. "War happens to the best of us, sometimes. Do you think the people of Duscur expected a war?"

"They must have -"

"Ah, never mind, bad example," Byleth says. She shakes her head, and crouches down to look Ferdinand in the eye. "All I mean is that war can happen at any time and you'll probably know it's coming but you won't always have time to prepare. And if you know what you're doing, you'll be less of a burden on your troops, and they won't hate you as much."

"I think that's a little too advanced for him, Professor," Hubert chimes in helpfully. 

"No, no, I shall simply have to accept that this is my lot in life." Ferdinand sighs heavily. "Professor, could you please go over again exactly how I am meant to construct a shelter from these materials?"

-

Later that night, Byleth sits alone by the campfire, watching sparks rise skyward. The night is peaceful and quiet, and she can smell salt on the night breeze, the shore being only a mile or so distant. The trees they're camping under offer some shelter - she debated the beach, but decided against it, because she didn't actually want her students all getting distracted by the chance to swim somewhere warm.

Edelgard emerges from the tent she and Hubert are sharing - it really is a nicely made structure, more of a large lean-to than a tent, built against a pair of wide trees. Plenty of room to make a space fit for the future Adrestian emperor. "Ah, Professor."

Byleth nods to her, then turns her gaze back to the fire.

Edelgard seats herself on another log opposite her, and is quiet for a moment, before asking, "How does anyone sleep out here? It's so loud."

Byleth stays silent.

"There's so many ... are they crickets? It sounds like crickets. It's so loud, and they refuse to stop making such a racket even though I would very much like to sleep - not that I expect them to know that, but still - thinking of so many insects -"

Byleth stands, and nods for Edelgard to follow, leading her away toward the stream they were following before the sun set. They're camped a decent distance from it, to avoid attracting too much notice from any predators that may come to drink. Midmonth, the moon is bright in the sky, casting everything silver, glowing off the leaves.

Crouching down on top of a broad flat rock that overhangs the creek, Byleth motions for Edelgard to join her. Edelgard obeys, somewhat hesitant. "What -"

Byleth lifts a finger to her lips, shaking her head. They've already made enough noise, and much of the night around them has fallen quiet aside from the unflappable stream which will continue to flow no matter what they do. With their stillness, though, sounds start to return from a distance, animal noises working inward again.

They both stay there for several minutes, quiet; Edelgard's brow furrows in confusion as the time goes by.

A sound catched Byleth's ear, and she nods toward a tall plant bending over the opposite bank; a small green frog clings to it, and makes intermittent peeping noises.

Edelgard watches the frog, and Byleth watches Edelgard, whose eyes are bright and wide. Edelgard points toward a larger frog, making a deeper sound, and Byleth attempts a grin that must do the job because Edelgard smiles back.

The river is full of fish; insects join the cacophany. Sometimes the surface of the slowly-flowing water is broken by a fish jumping to catch a low-flying insect. Bats dart in and out of sight, the whole scene lit only by the brightness of the moon.

Byleth finally rises to her feet, and Edelgard follows. "See? Not crickets, mostly," she says, when they're far enough away.

"I didn't know there were frogs that sounded like that," Edelgard admits. "I thought they went, you know. Ribbit?"

Byleth grins. "Sometimes. There are a lot of different sorts of frogs."

"I knew _that._"

"It's just - sometimes you think you know what something sounds like, just by looking at it, but ..." Byleth shrugs. "Ah, I haven't thought through the metaphor. I didn't plan a lesson. I just wanted to show you the frogs, since you asked."

"Thank you," Edelgard says, with a smile Byleth rarely sees during class. She looks tired but at ease, more relaxed than Byleth usually gets to see her. The moonlight makes her hair glow almost silver; her pale eyes look like those of a ghost, ethereal. 

Byleth shifts her weight to one foot, then back to the other, feeling suddenly more alert than she has all night. Above them, the stars are already halfway to their morning rest. "I guess knowing they're frogs won't help you sleep, but at least you know what's being so noisy. And that it's not - that it's different. From - other things it could be." She doesn't know how to talk about this, exactly, but she's glad and a little embarrassed in hindsight that she hadn't stopped to think whether Edelgard would be uncomfortable with the animals. But - there were no rats or silverfish or cockroaches, and she hadn't seemed upset, so maybe it was alright. 

Byleth watches Edelgard for long enough that Edelgard finally turns away, saying, "I should try to sleep."

Byleth steps back a few paces. A twig cracks underfoot, and she looks around, but no one else stirs or investigates. "Right, sorry."

Edelgard glances at her over her shoulder, and Byleth tries to ignore the way her hair falls over her shoulder, the way strands of it stroke at her cheek. Edelgard's expression is slightly incredulous, but fond. "No, I - thank you. I mean it."

"I see."

-

Byleth teaches, studies, trains. Teaches, studies, trains. Spars with her students. Takes meals with her class and her coworkers and the knights. Goes to tea; goes to choir practice; offers words of advice to anonymous requests for wisdom.

Her time is so full, somehow. She doesn't mean to stay at Garreg Mach quite so long but with Jeralt here isn't quite sure how to leave.

And then Flayn gets kidnapped, and everything happens so quickly after that. The quiet days of a fishing tournament give way to Remire and the reappearance of the Flame Emperor.

The Flame Emperor makes excuses, apologizes, blusters. Byleth thinks there's something familiar about them. It takes her a few days to realize why, though she chooses not to act on it. She doubts mentioning it would do anyone any good.

The Flame Emperor asks if Byleth will join their cause, and Byleth says yes. The Flame Emperor insists Byleth can't possibly mean that.

Later, Edelgard echoes the same sentiment: "You wouldn't actually join them. You don't know enough about what they're trying to achieve."

"Because they haven't told me." Byleth shrugs. "Not a great recruitment tactic, it turns out. If I could help them avoid atrocity, though ..."

"That's just not your path."

The appropriate move would be for Byleth to play it off as a joke: she's learned this, working here, forming actual bonds with the people around her. Part of her wishes she'd had this capacity as a mercenary - thinking back, so many of the people she and Jeralt worked with were probably perfectly likable people, who she mostly ignored except when they were useful or dying.

Instead of making a joke to break the tension, Byleth looks at her for a very long time, long enough that even Edelgard, who always meets her gaze, flushes and looks away.

"How do you know my goals? What path I intend to follow?"

"I ..." Edelgard falls silent.

Byleth puts a hand on her shoulder and tries to make some kind of expression, and fails. Edelgard stares at her, cheeks still dusted pink. "Listen. I'll protect you. No matter what."

"Professor ..."

"Just remember, I have goals of my own."

"I - of course. I never doubted it."

"You're a noble," Byleth says. "You might not have doubted it, but - so many nobles take their people for granted, as if the people who live in territory they've decided they control are just an extension of their own will. I know you're ... look. You want to abolish the nobility, don't you?"

Edelgard is frowning. "Yes, that's correct."

"So do I." Byleth tightens her grip on Edelgard's shoulder in a way she hopes is reassuring. Edelgard looks down at her hand, and the way her hair falls over her shoulder, the curve of her neck, are what finally convince Byleth to pull away - her pulse runs hot and irregular through her body. For want of anything to do, she rests her cheek against her hand, bracing her elbow with the other hand. "I guess what my path is depends on what the Flame Emperor wants. If they share that goal, I'll help them. If they don't, I won't."

"I see."

"In either case, I don't plan to work here forever." Byleth knows her blank expression is unsettling, but she can't force anything just now, and doesn't try. "I don't regret it, but I didn't come here planning to be a professor."

"Come to think of it, I suppose you would have mentioned it when we first met if you actually were to be employed here. Ah, and that conversation with Alois. I see."

"Just - when you eliminate the nobility, there will still be people who used to be nobles, and people who used to be commoners," Byleth says. "And some of the nobles will understand what you're doing, and some of them will - will think the way they always have, that people are tools for them to use. You have to be ready for that. You have to - when you cut the ship's moorings, you have to make sure they can't run it aground."

"I'll be ready."

"So will I," Byleth says.

-

It's not long after Remire that Jeralt dies, and Byleth - who has been learning things like joy and frustration and sympathy and anger and wanting - learns about sorrow, too; she feels like a ship, adrift. She is not ready for grief but still it claims her for its own.

-

She tries to get revenge, and for her efforts ends up locked in a vast and endless void beyond the world.

"Both your will and mine are as one," Sothis tells her. "Both sides of time are revealed to you and you alone."

She reaches out her hand, closing her eyes. It feels so strange. Magic surges in and around her, and the Sword at her side burns in her hand but does not hurt. She doesn't find out until later that her hair and eyes change color in the process, washed out to a pale luminous green instead of familiar blue.

She cuts through the barrier between the void and the world, and thinks of an old warning about swords pointed at the heavens, thinks: nothing could stop her now, not like this. She will rip the heavens apart if she has to, like a wild animal escaping a cage.

-

And at the end of this month Rhea wants her to visit a sacred place hidden beneath the monastery and Byleth wants, more than anything else, to run away. When she goes with Edelgard to Enbarr, she almost suggests they stay there, in the capital, but Edelgard seems intent on going back and Byleth follows along in her wake.

Rhea spends the whole month elated and asking probing questions - if Byleth hears voices, if she feels anything different. Every time Byleth evades answering or lies to her, her face falls, but she always rallies, so optimistic about whatever it is she hopes will happen down in that Tomb deep below the earth. 

Sothis, before the two of them merged, told Byleth sometimes that she was worried about Rhea. That Rhea was familiar somehow and that looking at her made Sothis sad for reasons she could not quite identify. Byleth does not feel any of that, looking at Rhea, only caution, always caution.

Still: she rotely does what Rhea tells her, and descends beneath the earth, and protects the Crest Stones. She fights the Imperial troops Edelgard brought along; across the room with its green green stone, she sees Alois bring Edelgard to her knees. She shouts for him to stop, but he doesn't hear; all her cry does is startle her own opponent, who she disarms and runs through with a silver sword. The Sword of the Creator is still at her waist. Every time she looks at it, she thinks of the bandit Miklan. Even though the sword reacts well to her, she thinks using it too much might make her a monster in a different way, maybe. It is an unreasonable fear - Sothis used to tell her so - but she prefers to use it only as a last resort nonetheless.

In any case: Edelgard is defeated, the rest of the Imperial troops in tatters. The Black Eagles seem lost, bewildered by everything that's happening. Byleth would be surprised they managed to win in such a state, but then again, she taught them well. They can fight through pain and confusion, in part thanks to her.

Byleth and Rhea walk to the end of the room together.

"Professor, kill Edelgard at once. She is a danger to all of Fodlan. Such a rebellious heart cannot be allowed to keep beating."

Byleth thinks of her father's journal, of her own still, unbeating heart, leaden in her chest. Her students, scattered nearby, look bewildered, miserable. She owes them better than this. What a mistake, to fight Edelgard at all - to have listened to Rhea for longer than necessary, to have doubted her pupil.

Rhea seems so sure of what will happen, head held high, rage barely contained - held back only by her ironclad faith that Byleth will follow orders as always - that Byleth doesn't really have a choice in what she does next. Byleth has spent so much time obeying Rhea's orders.

With a still heart and calm breath, Byleth draws the Sword of the Creator - sees Edelgard flinch, hears her choke down a complaint or sob though she still looks defiant - and then turns against Rhea. She stands her ground and does not run from what she has wanted to do from the moment she started wanting things: she protects Edelgard.

Even when Hubert appears, Rhea remains focused on the two of them. She threatens to tear Byleth's heart out of her chest, her voice taking on a strange and ravenous echo.

For a brief, faltering moment, Byleth wonders what would have happened if she made a different choice, as Edelgard feared - wonders if Rhea would have ever told her anything at all, or if she would have simply used her for whatever strange goals she had in taking an infant's heart so many years ago.

She doubts it, somehow, and feels peaceful. This is her path.

Behind her, Hubert starts laughing as Rhea turns into - something. A great white winged beast with curling horns, covered in spines. The Immaculate One, he calls her.

Then the dizzying sensation of a Warp spell cast for three takes them away, and Byleth stumbles slightly on the other side.

Hubert catches her before she can fall. She gives him a nod, which he returns.

All of her students are there, even Felix, who seems cagey and anxious but reassured first by Edelgard's speech and then by Byleth's assurances about Edelgard's aims and methods - that, in order to tear apart the system of nobility, they must also destroy the institution of the church.

-

They take Garreg Mach, and, staring down a dragon instead of a bandit's blade, Byleth dies for a second time. Before everything goes quiet beneath the river she wonders if it will be the last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter this time, oops. 
> 
> byleth gets single-mindedly obsessed with a goal

Five years later, she returns, pulling herself dripping to the river bank and stumbling through a small half-familiar village and wonders again if this will be the last time she returns from death. Wonders how many chances one person can get, and if they will be enough to do all she hopes to do.

Garreg Mach is a ruin and Edelgard stands in the Goddess Tower dressed in red and Byleth doesn't mean to startle her but is so transfixed by snow-silver hair and sunset-red clothes and the axe at her side that she can't think of a greeting.

Edelgard does enough talking for both of them, pulling her into an embrace Byleth wouldn't have thought to initiate but feels grateful for nonetheless, and Byleth clings just as tightly.

All these years of war, and the Black Eagle Strike Force survives, every last one of them.

-

War steals time out from under Byleth's feet - everything goes so fast. So much changed in the time she lost and things keep changing around her, but she plows ahead, drags victory out of the stalemate the continental powers find themselves in.

When she kills Ignatz, she remembers afternoons in the courtyard, remembers being snuck into paintings of his because she stayed so still. His scream echoes in her ears for days. None of the Strike Force are around to see him fall at the bridge, and she casts a fire spell in an impromptu private funeral, smoke rising toward the empty heavens.

The Alliance military seems horrified by the action. It eases her mind, if no one else's, and she cuts them down soon enough. No one has to know what she's done.

-

War steals time out from under Byleth's feet, and from all of them. Everyone is tired, though morale is apparently far higher than before Byleth's return, and she hates to think what it must have been like all those years.

-

Not long after taking the bridge, they take Arianrhod, and Felix kills his father.

He didn't have to - Byleth tried to station him far across the battlefield, but he made his way over of his own volition. Byleth turns back time, just the once, gives him different orders, but he does the same thing.

Sothis taught her about fate once, long ago, how some things can't be helped. She does not try again.

Felix kills his father, and after the battle, she finds him in camp cleaning his sword and talking to Caspar about strategy as if nothing's happened.

"Felix."

He looks up, and that's all the acknowledgment Byleth gets.

"A moment, if you would?"

"Fine." He shrugs, getting to his feet. "Caspar. We'll spar in the morning."

Caspar pumps his fist in the air. "Can't wait! See you later."

Byleth allows herself a small smile. "You've made friends."

"Useful allies," Felix counters, then shrugs, apparently disarmed. "Or friends. Fine. Friends."

"Do you remember ..." Byleth pauses, searching for just how to phrase her question. It won't do to tackle the subject of patricide too directly. She knows Felix well enough by now. "Back at the Academy, we spoke of your goals. What motivated you."

"Yes."

"Have you found your way?"

They talk through the camp, past flickering campfires and tired soldiers. The night is noisy with chatter and the sounds of horses and wyverns and pegasi and of armor being cleaned and blades sharpened. It's so lively, considering the battle that's just concluded. They took losses, to be sure, but they were minor in comparison. Not that any loss is minor - even one person lost can ruin a family or a battalion or the life of a child now orphaned.

Even so: things went as well as they could, and Felix still killed his own father and made an orphan of himself.

"I have," Felix says, finally. "Sometimes I worry that in all of this, I've become the same as the boar. Some beast slavering after blood and destruction."

"And have you?" Byleth asks, placidly.

Felix gives her a look, scoffing. "Maybe. What do you think?"

"I think if you're a beast, then so am I." Byleth pauses, watching a soldier struggling to get a fire lit. She waves a hand and the pile of sticks and logs bursts into flame. The soldier startles back, then spots her and smiles. She turns away and keeps walking. "It's not a matter of wanting destruction, but of - wanting to end this as quickly as possible. Of wanting the strength you've earned to be useful for something."

"I've always wanted to be strong. To fight." A pause. "Survival is a good goal, but it's not all you fight for anymore, either, is it?"

"No."

A white cat meanders across their path, and Felix starts to drift after it before remembering himself. The cat, unbothered, carries on, disappearing into the camp. "So what drives you?"

"Edelgard," Byleth answers, instantly and without thinking, then feels her face go red. She laughs at herself, turning away. "I mean her goals. The world she wants to create. One where Crests and lineage don't matter. The end of the Church and the nobility, a world where people make their own ways forward."

She nearly misses Felix's nod. "When I joined your house, I wasn't sure you believed in anything."

"Ah."

"I never wanted - I was never supposed to be heir to anything. I was the second son. I could have turned out like Caspar, but ..." He trails off, expression hardening. "I didn't get a choice, and then I did, and I made it. I've made my choice, Professor. I can clean up my own loose ends. If those ideals are what I'm fighting for, so be it."

Their meandering path has taken them to the wyvern pens, and Byleth sets to helping the camp aides with cleaning and organizing tack. Felix follows her example for want of anything else to do, sitting down across from her when she sinks down onto a log to scrub at a particularly ornate saddle of red and gold.

"I'm glad that - that our dream could reach someone like you," Byleth says, haltingly. She worries for a moment about claiming the dream as her own, not just Edelgard's, but thinks back across the years and decides it truly is shared. "From what I've seen, it seems as if the Kingdom suffered worst of all from that system, commoners and nobles alike."

"It did," Felix agrees. "It does."

"I promise that I'm fighting for them, too," Byleth says, almost surprised that she means it. "You can have your own destiny. You're walking a path you chose for yourself. No one else decided it for you."

"Yes." Felix's shoulders visibly relax, though there's still a crease in his brow.

"Thank you," Byleth says, finally, eyes set firmly on the saddle she's cleaning rather than on Felix. Somewhere in the long gap, Edelgard finally got a wyvern. Byleth is no animal tender, but she can at least keep tack maintained - it's not so different from caring for weapons and armor, after all. "For fighting with us despite everything."

The great black beast pulls at its tether, leaning forward to gently chew on Byleth's hair. She grimaces, but it's being gentle and she doesn't feel like upsetting it, so she works at scrubbing some blood out of a stirrup while Felix stifles a laugh at her expense.

"I don't ... After today, I thought I'd feel more alone," Felix finally says. He rubs at his face with his hands, never meeting her eyes. "I thought I'd feel anything."

"Ah."

"But I don't, not really." Felix shakes his head. He's almost as bad at dealing with his emotions as Byleth is, and she appreciates that, but doesn't know how to help, either. "No one here is angry at me for what I did."

"Do you want us to be?" Byleth offers. "I could yell at you, if you want."

Felix snorts. "You wouldn't mean it."

"I can be very convincing."

"Fuck you," Felix says, smiling for once. His expression falls again, almost instantly, as he adds, "You'd better lead us to victory, Byleth."

"I plan to. I won't let your effort go to waste." Byleth rises to her feet, and pats the snout of Edelgard's wyvern before going to return its tack to where it belongs. "Good night, Felix."

-

Late in the night, discussing strategy, Edelgard brings it up herself: "Why did you let Felix kill his own father?"

Hubert is studiously ignoring their conversation, though Byleth is certain he hears every word. He always does, one way or another.

"I gave him an out," Byleth says. "He ignored orders in favor of doing it himself. Maybe he wanted control over his own fate. If his father had to die, why not by his hand?"

"Because he didn't have to be the one to -"

"Edelgard. El." That makes the emperor freeze. Byleth walks around the table to her. Puts a hand on her shoulder, then decides better of it, and cups her face in her hands. Edelgard's cheeks flush, her expression bewildered, lips slightly parted. "He made that choice himself. Do you remember when we fought - that bandit, with the Lance of Ruin."

"Yes." Edelgard thinks, then sighs, sinking into Byleth's touch. She seems so tired. "Yes, I do."

"Sylvain asked me personally if he could come along," Byleth says. "I didn't invite him."

Edelgard lifts her eyes, searching Byleth's face for something. She seems to find it, because she nods, and sighs again. "Some days I think I understand you, and other days you seem - so far away."

"I'm sorry."

Edelgard wraps her arms around Byleth's back, pressing her face against her shoulder. Her voice dropping to a whisper, she tells Byleth, "Sometimes I worry that following my path has done this to you."

"Done what?"

"I don't know."

Byleth lifts a hand to stroke the top of Edelgard's hair, studiously avoiding the horns of the headdress the emperor still wears. "Rhea's the one who made me who I am. Even if you'd never - if you hadn't set your plans in motion, if you didn't begin this war, I would have."

"Byleth -"

"The moment she warned us not to turn our swords to the heavens," Byleth says. "That's when I knew."

"For so long."

"Yes."

"Ah, Byleth. To think I doubted you." Edelgard leans against her a while longer, then seems to gather herself, pulling away and nodding self-seriously. She only rarely allows herself moments like this, and Byleth is still grateful that she's the one the emperor turns to for such support. "All right. We need to plan our next moves. Hubert."

"Yes, Lady Edelgard."

"What news from your spies in Conand territory?"

And like that, they're back to work, as if nothing's happened.

-

Another city, another battle. Time marches forward as surely as the Imperial army, and the sun silhouettes Edelgard on the back of her wyvern, Aymr held aloft and glowing as she yells something to the arrayed soldiers on the field below.

The fighting is long and messy, and Byleth loses track of her own kills. Elsewhere on the field, Edelgard's wyvern rises and sinks as she cuts her own path through the bodies of the opposing army. Once, she's near enough that her wyvern's spread wings blot out the sky, and she smiles down at Byleth, expression barely visible against the sunglare, and Byleth almost misses something that happens forty, fifty feet away:

Felix kills Sylvain. Byleth turns back time. Felix kills Sylvain. Byleth turns back time. Felix kills Sylvain.

Byleth turns back time. A little further, for this effort, just before the battle.

They both kill each other, though Felix dies first - only a few minutes ahead.

"Guess we kept our promise," Sylvain rasps, a hand scrabbling in the dirt toward Felix, eyes dim and unseeing. Their hands never meet despite Sylvain's efforts; his intestines are spread across the ground in messy loops that make Byleth think, stupidly, of fried noodles in the dining hall.

From on high, Edelgard, seeing Felix: "Oh, oh, not him -"

Byleth stares down at them, and, exhausted, turns back time.

-

So many people have died and it's been - not fine, but part of war. People Byleth saw every day have died by her own blade. She's killed people who could have been friends if her path had veered even slightly - if, that day in the Holy Tomb, she had followed orders. (She's let a few go, when she could. If she asked him, Hubert could tell her where Claude is now, she's sure, but she doesn't and she won't.)

She's learned lessons about things that are fated to happen and inevitabilities and how sometimes, even if you stop something once, it's bound to happen anyway at a later date or somewhere else entirely. 

Both sides of time are revealed to her, but this one - this particular twinge of fate and time and the threads of history getting pulled on just so - is something she will not accept.

She mounts a pegasus before the battle restarts - not her usual, but she wants the mobility, wants to be there, to intervene directly. Even though she wants a world without gods, in this moment she is content to playact as one, secure in the knowledge that, at the end of the day, she is still just another person, as mortal as anyone despite the unbeating hardness of her heart and the uncanny power of time's flow.

She's exhausted, after all, having turned it so many times in a row. Sothis' voice is no longer there to scold her so she continues.

Battle spreads across the Tailtean Plains, and Byleth watches over it from the back of her nervous steed. She spots Sylvain, impaling her troops on the end of a vicious-looking lance, his mount surefooted and imposing in its polished black armor. It's as if the Imperial army is throwing itself on his lance - approach after approach ends with another soldier impaled and flung aside. From this distance, she can't see his expression, and wonders if he thinks the Kingdom's forces are going to win here.

Sometimes, on the battlefield, focus narrows to the moment, and she can imagine him thinking the battle as a whole is going his way considering how well he's faring. But Byleth can see more from the skies, can see her generals and their troops cutting their own path forward with their own swords and lances. Bernadetta, on horseback, making a mockery of the other side as she harries them with arrows; Caspar, fists flying; Petra, backed into a corner but holding her own and emerging victorious, and Linhardt healing her wounds before Petra plows forward once again. She doesn't see Hubert but does spot the telltale signs of his magic in the distance. Edelgard, plunging from the sky, over and over, always to rise again.

But here, now, in this place and moment, Sylvain is beating everyone who comes at him, still living, and Felix has yet to arrive. She puts the pegasus into a dive, stopping just outside the reach of Sylvain's lance so long as he doesn't throw it.

"Sylvain."

"Professor. Fancy seeing you here." Sylvain winks. His smile shows too many teeth; spikes bristle at his shoulders, dark armor making a shadow of him and his horse alike. His hair is the color of a dying ember. "You ready to die?"

Byleth wants to go to sleep and wake up back at the Academy, at Garreg Mach before the war and before any of this. She should have recruited Sylvain when she had the chance instead of running herself ragged, leaving the strands of time matted like a stray dog's coat. "Not really."

"Didn't think so," Sylvain says with a sigh, shrugging dramatically. "What do you want?"

"For you to join us." The threnody of battle plays on around them - a rhythm section of footsteps and metal-on-metal, the mournful melody carried in shouts and screams. It's a song Byleth hears in her dreams. The pegasus' wings beat, beat, beat.

"After you started a war?" He laughs up at her, and holds his spear aloft. She remembers Rhea, warning about weapons turned toward the heavens, and squashes that memory as swiftly as it arrives. Sylvain's horse paces a restless step forward, tossing its head. "You turned me away once. What's different now?"

The sight of Byleth on her pegasus, Sword of the Creator on her back, seems to be enough to keep the tide of battle parted around them, offering space in the chaos for this conversation to finally unfold.

"Nothing, really," she says. "Do you know what we're fighting for?"

"You and that emperor of yours want to rule all of Fodlan." Sylvain shrugs, tired and bitter. "Get rid of the nobles and install your own lackeys instead. You want us all dead."

"Did you even read the manifesto?"

Sylvain snorts. "Nah. Used it as kindling. Winter gets awful cold in Gautier territory, Professor."

Byleth shakes her head at herself, and turns back time once more, only a few seconds. This time, instead of asking about the manifesto, she tries: "Did you ever wonder why Felix joined us?"

His expressions twists miserably. "Of course I did. I don't know. How should I know?"

"You could ask him."

"Sure," Sylvain says, finally, with a heavy sigh. "Sure, fine." 

She dismounts, taking his weapons and turning to lead him back to the empire's supply line, off the battlefield, when she feels a dagger catch and grind against a rib before twisting and sinking deeper into her, piercing a lung. Sylvain sounds cheerful. "Sorry about this, Professor."

Before her breath can fail, she turns back time once more, feels the dagger grinding against bone again in reverse.

She offers the same invitation, Sylvain agrees again, and this time Byleth waits and watches him carefully. The battle around them is not going in his side's favor. Sylvain notices, of course.

She decides to take a risk: "Here. Ride with me."

"Seriously?"

"Come on."

"I always knew you were weird, but this is a bit much," Sylvain says, but he hops down from his horse and clambers up onto the pegasus behind Byleth, arms around her waist at once. "Are you finally giving in to my charms in the middle of battle?"

"No."

She gets stabbed again. She's so tired. She turns back time. Says, "No. Look. I want you to - Felix was your best friend. I just want you to talk to him. I won't try to convince you of anything myself. If you don't like what you hear, you can do as you wish."

"This is fucked up," Sylvain says. He seems tired, too. He looks down at his horse as they ascend to the heavens and Byleth searches for Felix.

It takes a while to find him, circling overhead; when they do, he's got his face pressed against the neck of Sylvain's horse and is surrounded by dead Kingdom soldiers, the battle nearly done without them.

The pegasus hesitates under her command, but eventually lands, pulling left then right at the reins, nervous and unsure where it's trying to go. Sylvain hops down, patting it on the flank, and it settles briefly. "Hey, Felix."

Felix looks up, startled. "I thought you were dead."

"Not yet." He holds up his hands. "Remember that promise we made as kids?"

"I remember." He looks at Byleth, at the pegasus, piecing things together. He scowls at her.

"I'm glad you didn't break it before I could kill you," Sylvain says, lunging.

Byleth's stomach churns. She feels faint. She turns back time. Before Sylvain can say anything, she cuts in: "I didn't bring you here to fight."

"What could you possibly want, then?" Sylvain asks, laughing. "What the fuck are you doing?"

She's only upright because she's seated, feet in the stirrups. She feels ready to pass out. "I just want ... I want ..."

She throws up, nearly falling from her mount's back. Above, she sees Edelgard, on wyvernback, bewildered. 

Then she sees a hail of arrows, sees Edelgard fall. Byleth can barely stay upright, but she yanks at time, jolting herself backwards just enough. Everything hurts, but she forces her startled pegasus skyward, feels countless arrows pierce her, hears her mount screaming.

She falls, and sees Felix and Sylvain standing over her, and she thinks Felix might be crying but everything is very hazy and the only sound is a high-pitched ringing. At least nothing hurts.

Everything goes dark and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, hello, i am on twitter @aflightybroad or mastodon @aflightybroad@goblin.camp


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end of an era and a city bedecked with flowers. despite everything, time moves ever forward.

The first thing Byleth is aware of is a hand holding hers, but Hubert is the first to notice her waking; Edelgard is asleep, it seems. She wonders how long the emperor has wasted at her side. There is so much to do, always, during wartime, but here Edelgard is, chin resting on her own chest in a way that's sure to make her neck hurt whenever she awakens, lips slightly parted and breathing steady.

She reminds Byleth of so many scenes she's seen in so many infirmaries over the years - a friend, a relative, a loved one, by the bedside of someone they care about, holding onto their hand. Byleth has never sat where Edelgard sits now. When she visited sick students, she would stand at the end of the bed and then leave.

"Byleth." A dry voice breaks her reverie and she jerks her gaze away from Edelgard and back to Hubert.

"I did something very stupid," Byleth says. She wraps her other hand around the one Edelgard has covering her own, wants to cling to this fragment of a moment as long as she can.

"I see." Hubert notices her move, of course, but says nothing about it. Either he'll use the gesture against her later or he won't. She thinks he trusts her, but Hubert would do everything in his power to kill her if he thought it necessary, no matter how close their friendship grows. She bears no ill will at the thought: she would do the same, after all. "You certainly gave the healers something to talk about. You're very lucky that Dorothea saw what happened."

"Please tell me you've thanked her."

"Of course."

"Good. And - Sylvain. Here?"

Hubert pauses. "We have him under watch as a prisoner of war, yes."

"Thank you for not showing him the usual von Vestra hospitality." Byleth lets her head fall back against the pillow. Even her teeth hurt. "Let Felix talk to him. Please."

"I haven't been able to stop him," Hubert says, which Byleth knows is a lie - Hubert has near carte blanche influence in the army. He full well could find Felix something else to do somewhere far away and Felix wouldn't have much choice in the matter. Then again, Felix is stubborn, as Byleth is well aware. Maybe Hubert _is_ telling the truth.

Either way: "Thank you."

"If he joins us, it will be a significant blow to the remnant Kingdom's morale."

"Yes." Byleth nods. Sylvain's popular, after all, and Gautier is an important house. Thinking strategically, having him on their side makes sense. Realistically, she just wants to keep him and Felix from killing each other. "And it will get me on Felix's good side."

For all that she's watched them kill their own families and move past those deaths, something in her refuses to allow them to do the same to one another.

Having emotions is strange. If she were still a mercenary, even one with this awful power over time, she would never have done what she just did. She's exhausted, completely. She hadn't even realized Dorothea was nearby, and had been so exhausted she couldn't have turned back time if she'd wanted to. Again, death's grip on her has slipped and she has broken free from it. Again, she lives, and she's mostly just grateful her play for Felix's sake succeeded.

"You know you've already won his favor. You have only to ask, at this point," Hubert says. "I am sure he would -"

"It's not that," Byleth snaps quietly, cutting him off. "Never that. That's not where - I have other interests."

Not that she's gotten to act on those interests, or the most pressing and specific of them. She bedded a pegasus knight once back in her academy days, and a guard at a town they passed through a few months back, but neither woman was a long-term interest. Her particular focus bends toward the only other person in the room, and both of them are far too busy for Byleth to even dare mention it. Even after the war, they're going to be busy - it's useless to fixate on, though she fixates nonetheless. It's not something she can act upon, lest she risk burdening Edelgard with more trouble than she already carries.

Defeating the Church in battle won't be enough to root out its influences, and removing titles from nobility won't instantly lead to a perfect meritocracy. The nobles have the advantage of years and years of money and education, after all. There will be so much left to do even after their victory. (And if they're defeated - then there won't be anything to do at all.)

Just thinking about it makes her tired, but for now Edelgard's hand is warm around her own. Everything is sore, and she feels like a repaired dish with the glue still drying - whole, but liable to break at any moment, and held together by external forces.

"I see." Hubert nods.

"You need better spies if you didn't know that."

Hubert actually smiles at her, and Byleth wonders if she isn't asleep again already. "You already slept with one of them; I think my network is functioning as intended."

"Bastard," Byleth says, though honestly, she's impressed. That Hubert trusts her to tell her that brings a slight, exhausted smile to her face; she can't feel upset over him doing his job. "Then why did you think ..."

"Oh, I didn't, but I wanted to hear you say it." Hubert smirks at her, and she rolls her eyes. Her head aches. She doesn't have the energy to laugh.

"I'm going back to sleep." She turns on her side, facing the emperor, so that Edelgard's face is the last thing she sees before she drifts off.

If Hubert says anything more, Byleth doesn't hear it.

-

In the end, Byleth takes a week and a half to recover.

The first full day she spends out of bed, Felix comes to find her around dinner time.

"Byleth."

"I'm not up for sparring just yet," she says, then shakes her head. "Actually, maybe I should. All right."

"That's not why I came to find you." Felix drags her to the dining hall, getting plates for both of them before herding her to a table. He sits across from her, staring until she meets his eyes, then immediately looks away. "Listen up, because I won't say this again. Thank you."

"For - oh." She nods. "You're welcome."

Felix ducks his head, suddenly very intent on his meal. "Has anyone told you the boar is dead?"

"I knew."

Felix's voice bristles around the edges. "I saw him fall. Edelgard took his head herself."

"Ah. That I wasn't sure of." She can imagine it, and nearly considers turning back time to see it for herself, but that would be absurd and she's fairly sure she would die. She chooses instead to trust that Felix tells the truth. "With him gone, Fhirdiad is almost all that's left."

Felix takes a long drink of water. "Fhirdiad. Have you ever been there?"

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"It's well fortified, but we can win." Felix stabs a fork into a morsel of meat with more force than either of them expects. He shakes his head, nearly but not quite laughing. "I don't know what I'll do with myself when this is over."

"It won't be over for a long time," Byleth admits. "Even after our victory, there are - others we need to defeat."

"Ah, our unfortunate allies? Solon and the like."

Byleth nods. Then, considering: "After the war, would you be willing to work for me?"

"For you, or for the empire?"

Byleth holds up her hands, both empty. She has no answer for this. The answer depends on too many variables she can't know about her future and that of the empire.

"Hm."

"Everyone will be busy rebuilding. I'll need someone I can send out into the field. Edelgard has her blade in the dark. I could use my own."

"You want to use me as a weapon."

There's no reason to conceal this goal from him. "Yes."

His eyes gleam orange in the torchlight. "Very well, then. It would be an honor."

"Thank you, Felix." She leans back slightly on the bench, bracing her hands on its edge. "I'll do my best to keep you challenged."

That honesty makes Felix laugh. "You know me well, don't you, Byleth? I always thought - part of me thought the boar might come around, but when I saw him on the battlefield ..."

"I'm sorry," Byleth says, for want of anything better or more useful.

"I should have known." Felix shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "I thought I did, but - I grew up alongside him. I always hoped that the boy I knew was the real Dimitri and the boar was just ... I don't know. It was foolish. Ah. I don't know why I'm bothering you with this."

"It's fine," Byleth says. She doesn't know what to say. She knows fragments of Felix's past, his former friendship with Dimitri, but Felix has never been much of one for reminiscing and Byleth has never known how to ask. Most of his friends are either dead or in exile, so there aren't many people she could ask if she wanted to. She doubts he's opened up to the rest of the Black Eagles about his history, barring valuable intelligence he's offered freely time and time again, but giving up the layout of a city or the exploitable weaknesses of a particular noble are decidedly different than the personal intricacies of a childhood friendship lost to madness and war. "Let's go to the training grounds. I'm out of practice."

"I won't go easy on you."

"Fine."

-

After dinner, Byleth goes to the room where Sylvain's been locked up. There are mechanisms turning in her mind, plans of her own forming. With any luck, Hubert won't interfere. She doubts he will: for now her interests align with Edelgard's own too well for him to be bothered.

They've been planning all along to deal with those who slither in the dark, after all. Surely they won't turn down the assistance.

When she arrives at Sylvain's prison, the guards let her in. Felix is already inside. "Are you following me?"

Byleth shakes her head, laughing. "No. I wanted to talk to Sylvain. Hey, Sylvain."

"Professor. Looking lovely as always."

"Fuck off," she says, without any rancor.

"Ooh, the professor said a bad word -"

"I'm not your professor anymore, so stop calling me that," Byleth tells him. "Sorry I didn't come talk to you sooner. I brought tea."

"Aw, teach -"

"It's Byleth."

"Yeah, yeah," Sylvain says. Felix cuffs him lightly on the side of the head, and his grin turns sheepish. "Fine. Byleth. So you brought tea."

She sets out the teapot on the table, and then realizes she only brought two teacups, and almost does the absurd thing of turning back time. Instead, she says, "Do you have an extra cup? Sorry, Felix."

Sylvain does in fact have an extra cup, left over from a meal brought to him in his room earlier that day. It's copper and probably not the best vessel for tea, but it will have to do. She takes that one for her own, leaving the teacups to Sylvain and Felix. She pours for all of them, careful and practiced. The fine art of the perfect tea-time was one of the most useful things she learned during her Academy days, outside of all the history and inter- and intranational politics of the continent.

Sylvain picks up his tea cup, inhaling deeply. "Bergamot? You shouldn't have."

Byleth probably shouldn't have, is the thing. She took it from Edelgard's own personal supplies. Still, she needed it, and Hubert told her where to find it without questioning her. There's probably a spy watching them right now - that's the danger of Garreg Mach. The building is old and full of secrets and it can be very easy to overhear things, whether purposefully or by accident. "Shut up and enjoy it."

"Wow, rude. I thought you were trying to win me over."

"You're too smart for me to bother with sweet-talking you."

"You flatter me!"

Felix snorts, hiding whatever's on his face by taking a long sip of the still-hot tea. "What a fine analytical mind you have, Byleth."

"Hush. Sylvain. Felix has had a week to win you over."

"Was I supposed to be doing that?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sylvain laughs. "I'll fight for you. So hey, you're not dead! That's great. Feeling better?"

Byleth looks down at herself, then back to Sylvain. "I don't seem to be perforated anymore, so I'll say yes."

"Glad to hear it." Sylvain acts like he's waiting for one of them to speak, then finally sighs. "You're both impossible. Pro - Byleth. Aren't you going to ask why I'm changing sides so easily? I'm a security risk, right?"

Byleth remembers how it felt to have a cold blade slip into flesh, glancing against a rib before digging in deeper. She remembers dizzying hours trying to keep two people alive when she could have let time and date have their way.

Felix alone, Sylvain alone, wouldn't have changed the course of the war. There are too many players and it's gone on too long for the loss of one or two generals to end it.

"Felix."

"Yes?"

"You spoke to him. You trust him, right?"

Felix stares her down.

Sylvain says, "You've gotten in pretty good on this side, huh?"

Felix shrugs. Addresses Byleth instead of Sylvain: "We trust each other. And we both ... with the boar dead, why not?"

"Why not," Sylvain agrees with a wink.

Byleth sighs, and Sylvain looks at her, then Felix.

"You two are good for each other," he says. Sylvain is very skilled at faking a smile, though five years of war have made his smiles brittler - more practiced and more fragile at once.

"You fucking idiot."

"What?"

"You're so - you're both idiots," Byleth decides. "We're starting over. Sylvain, stop being sad."

"What are -"

She digs down inside herself, and pulls time backwards. Nothing uncomfortable twists in her gut, and she is clear-eyed and alert on the other side of the inversion. She just needs to remember her limits.

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm changing sides so easily? I'm a security risk, right?" Sylvain asks again, unaware.

"The - Dimitri is dead," Byleth says, having to catch herself and avoid saying the boar. "Felix is here. What else would you be fighting for at this point?"

"Maybe I just don't like Adrestia? Or maybe I want honor, I guess," Sylvain says. "The church. You never know. Maybe I suddenly got really devout out of nowhere, how would you know?"

"Sure. Remember that time you threatened to kill me?"

"What - wait, back at school?" That startles a genuine grin out of him. "I still don't know if I hate you or not."

"You can hate me all you want," Byleth says. "Just let me know if you still want to fight. Surely Felix has told you our goals by now."

"I have," Felix says. "He wouldn't believe me at first."

"Well, yeah. I'm a prisoner of war. You could tell me anything. How would I know?"

Byleth does not think about it long before saying, "You have free run of the monastery. I'll tell the guards to leave you alone. You can even leave, if you want."

"That's a lot of leeway." Sylvain's lips thin, eyes darkening. "I mean it. Why are you trusting me?"

"Because you're a smart man. You know which way history is bending." This time, Byleth avoids calling him an idiot, avoids pointing out that she only trusts him because Felix does. It's then that she realizes it: the reason she's spent so much time trying to help them is because she wants someone to have what she can't. She sees enough of herself in Felix that she's willing to rewrite history for his sake, but not her own. Sylvain is different enough from Edelgard that she thinks the two of them can make it work.

She'd like to believe she and Edelgard can, after it all, but - inside her is the mother of a monster with white spines and golden horns. She has the power of the Beginning and she doesn't want to use that for her own sake, doesn't want to cheat that way. If they can have a happy ending: fine. If they can't: she won't break reality apart for it. She won't turn herself into a monster or manipulate Edelgard that way.

Maybe it's cruel, then, trying to fix things for Felix and Sylvain. Maybe she should have let them kill each other.

But Sylvain gives Felix a fond look, and says to him, "The Professor really trusts you, huh?" and Felix rolls his eyes and Byleth thinks: she will rewrite history as many times as she has to for them. Sylvain turns to her. "Fine, Sure. I'm with you. Let's kill the Goddess."

Byleth laughs, genuinely surprised. "What?"

"It can be a metaphor if you want, either way," Sylvain says. "Whatever it takes. Fine. Sure. Whatever, I'm here."

"We've got your horse, by the way," Byleth says. A few days ago, Hubert told her that before she'd even thought to ask. "She's healthy."

"Wow, you should have opened with that one. I'd have been way easier to win over if I knew my horse was still alive and kicking. Do I get new tack in Empire colors?"

"Sure, if you want."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to romance me. You saved my horse _and_ I get new tack. I'm a lucky man, Byleth."

"You're an idiot, is what you are," Felix says, utterly without rancor.

"I'm happy to see you again, too," Sylvain says, and Felix punches him lightly on the shoulder, and Byleth thinks things will be all right. That maybe she won't have to turn back the clock for them again.

-

Sometimes Byleth imagines a simpler version of events, a simpler world. Even a simpler war.

It goes like this: she's born, her mother dies. Despite everything, there's no room in her idle daydreams for a mother or a life at the monastery. She's born, her mother dies, her heart beats and Jeralt leaves the Knights of Seiros out of grief instead of fear. In her dreams she is still a mercenary, another fixed constant.

She imagines a world where she saves Edelgard and agrees to serve her and never becomes a professor. Instead she is a tool of the Emperor and she is a leaf on the river, she is a stone rolling down a hill, she is a blade in Edelgard's hand. How easy things could be.

In this dream of hers she is able to tell Edelgard things she can't in the world as it is. She imagines how much simpler it all could be if she had a heart and friends and emotions spanning more than a year and a half with a five year void torn through the middle.

Sometimes in her dreams they fight the same war but simpler. Sometimes they don't and they find a peaceful solution that still ends with the church dissolved and the Immaculate One dead. Another constant, when she thinks of the future.

Still: dreams don't have to be real to be reassuring.

In an imagined version of the world, she and Edelgard can run away and live somewhere quiet and Byleth can teach her how to find good mushrooms and how to make flour from acorns and they can keep a little falcon to help them hunt, and at night, at night - Byleth does not let her imagination dwell on it.

She already has to try hard enough not to let herself watch Edelgard in the real world (the way her fingers curve around Aymr's haft, the cant of her head when she's heard something distant, a loose strand of hair at the nape of her neck, the way her cape moves with her when she -) and her imagination filling in unseen pieces does not help.

\- 

There are people Byleth has turned back time for countless times. Caspar, early on especially. Linhardt, who's fallen asleep on the battlefield and died in absurd ways. Ferdinand, but only during the war, who has gotten more reckless than his Academy days.

She still remembers each of the four times Hubert has died. One time she killed him herself, on accident - he'd been spying on her, and she hadn't realized who he was and had run him through and then stared into his eyes as he breathed his last. The worst part was how unsurprised he looked by it all. It had taken her a little while to remember, through the haze of misery, that she could turn it back. Back then, she still managed to forget, sometimes, when off the battlefield, that she could scratch things out and try again. She doesn't know when it turned into a crutch.

For Edelgard she has only ever turned back time twice - the first, when a bandit's blade had nearly felled her, and the second when the only reason she was in danger was because Byleth had already strained time to its limits.

-

They plan to march on Fhirdiad in two weeks.

Hubert comes to Byleth's room one night, and for a moment she worries he's suddenly decided not to trust her anymore - but he has Ferdinand in tow, which makes it all the more bewildering.

"I get to be useful at last," Ferdinand says, with a wide and utterly unconvincing smile. He's not as good at feigning confidence as Sylvain. She hasn't spoken to him often enough, hasn't offered him enough, and regrets that, but won't turn back time to fix it. She'd need to turn it back by months or years and doesn't know if Sothis herself would have been able to survive that.

"I'm going to be leaving for a short time," Hubert explains, "and someone needs to help Lady Edelgard with her hair. The headdress is - complex, for one person to manage alone."

"I see." So, a gift or a peace offering. She doesn't question his motives out loud. "And why is Ferdinand here?"

Ferdinand shrugs generously. "My hair is nearly as long as Lady Edelgard's, and Hubert here thinks you should practice on someone less important."

"That's not what I said." Hubert sounds tired but not upset. "All I said was that Byleth would need someone to practice on, and that I trusted you not to betray state secrets." His expression is bland, but Byleth can't help but laugh.

"As I said." Ferdinand seems marginally more at ease, thankfully. He smiles, and Byleth smiles back. "In any case, I am at your disposal."

The rolls necessary are elaborate. Hubert has a somewhat crude facsimile of Edelgard's headdress, and he shows Byleth just how to work it into the hair. In the quiet of Byleth's room, he seems peaceful, gentle. She's glad he can have moments like this. Maybe this is how his mornings are - leaving his room for Edelgard's, helping her prepare to face the day ahead.

Ferdinand keps his head bowed, and they talk about the war and about the Aegir household and what it's been like for his family since his father was deposed; how his mother has been, and life in the surrounding villages now that their local Duke is no more. He only occasionally veers into melancholy, and Byleth and Hubert both manage to steer the conversation back on track - letting him talk about himself but not letting him wallow.

Maybe this isn't a gift for Byleth. Maybe Hubert is doing Ferdinand a favor, instead, for whatever unfathomable reasons he might have. Or, more likely: this is a way to once again measure and gauge Byleth's value to the empire, and a way to fill a gap, and a way to help a friend all at once. Maybe, for once, Hubert's motives are almost entirely magnanimous.

Thinking of Hubert turning his skills to making people happy makes Byleth laugh to herself, and he gives her an odd look but she shakes it off.

"I look absurd," Ferdinand says, sounding incredibly pleased with himself as he peers in the mirror in the corner of Byleth's room. His hair has been done and undone three times - Byleth's second effort is much better than the first, but the style truly doesn't suit him. "Imagine anyone following me into battle, looking like this."

"Hush," Hubert says. "You'd never ride out looking like this. If you were emperor, you would have designed your own crown."

"Don't give me ideas," Ferdinand says. "First I'll design a crown, then I'll start making designs on the throne just to have an excuse to wear it."

"I'd kill you," Byleth says gravely, and Ferdinand, thankfully, laughs, taking it as a joke. "Besides, after all this - there won't be an emperor."

Hubert looks at her in disbelief, a flash of betrayal. The air smells of ozone, and Byleth feels like she is surrounded by biting flies from the hazy beginnings of a spell. Ferdinand yelps, stumbling back from both of them, but doesn't make a move to intervene.

"Not like that!" Byleth throws up her hands, and she's the one laughing this time. "What do you take me for? I mean - there won't be a king or an emperor or noble households. The whole of it. Just people." The air around her stills.

"No emperor?" Ferdinand repeats, incredulous. "I thought the plan was to replace the noble houses with - with those who prove themselves worthy. Then who's going to lead the commoners?"

"The commoners."

Ferdinand squints at her. "I don't know what you mean."

She lets out a breath. "I mean the people will have to guide themselves. Shape their own stories. There are enough villages like that already, half-ignored by their supposed leaders. It can be done."

"Maybe in a small village, but a city like Enbarr? Like Derdriu?" Ferdinand shakes his head. Part of the mock headdress falls off and a bead goes flying with the motion; one looped bun droops a little. "You really think that the commoners will be able to handle that alone? Why do you think I went to the Officer's Academy? So I would know how to guide them the way a proper noble should."

Byleth shrugs. "You can work with them the way a person would. You'll just be someone's neighbor instead of their leader, and they'll only have to follow you if they agree to."

Hubert taps at Ferdinand's shoulder, and then sets about dismantling the elaborate hairstyle once again. His hands are covered in scars - from weapons, burns, magic. He has his gloves off for this delicate work, and Byleth wonders if he takes them off to do Edelgard's hair, as well, then starts thinking about the softness of Edelgard's hair, wonders how it will compare to Ferdinand's.

It all feels suddenly intimate in a way that terrifies her, realizing that people can be so close and tender. She wonders, suddenly, if Hubert is trying to get revenge on her for some forgotten slight - being so close to Edelgard each morning is going to be torturous.

Then Hubert finishes taking down Ferdinand's hair, and he guides her through the process of styling it once again, and this time it holds much better but they still do it one last time just to be sure. Talking about technique keeps them off the topic of governance, which is a welcome relief, because Byleth thinks she has said far too much in front of Hubert just now - and maybe that's the reason he brought Ferdinand.

It's not that she thinks he disagrees with her, necessarily, just that they have both been hunting each other, seeking out intentions and motivations and loyalties and just what those loyalties mean. Just because they trust each other in wartime doesn't mean the peace will hold forever, no matter how kindly they may look upon each other now.

Hubert seems genuinely relaxed, so she thinks maybe she's passed this test, this time. He has, too.

"This has been pleasant," Ferdinand declares, after Hubert decides Byleth has gotten enough practice. "And inspirational, actually, I think I'll have to find an elaborate hairstyle of my own once the war is over and I have the time."

"Not this again."

"Not what?"

"Competing with Lady Edelgard like squabbling children -"

Ferdinand sighs, deflating. "I already know I can't compete. I just thought - never mind."

"Hubert, shut the fuck up," Byleth says. "Ferdinand. I'll look forward to seeing whatever you come up with."

"Ah. Thank you?"

"Yes. If it's impressive enough, I'll find you a new horse or something. Now both of you, get out, I want to sleep." The guards have already changed shift once, and it's nearing the last watch of the night, with the amount of time they've spent on this. She has somewhere to be in the morning that she is staunchly not thinking about, and needs at least a moment's peace to deal with her impending fate.

-

Edelgard is wearing a white sleeveless gown, not even dressed yet, and Byleth freezes in the doorway for a moment. Hubert must hate her. Despise her, in fact.

"Is everything alright?" Edelgard asks, concerned.

"Yes." Byleth nods quickly. "Yes. Sorry. Good morning, Edelgard."

"Good morning. Do you plan to come in, or ..."

"Right, sorry." She's still staring. She knows she should stop, but - usually Edelgard has so many layers on, and Byleth has never in all these years gotten a proper look at her. Or an improper one, she supposes, as Edelgard is very intentional about her propriety. But oh, her arms. They look solid with muscle, her skin pale and crisscrossed by scars.

Edelgard looks down at her desk, frowning, cheeks reddening unpleasantly. "I told Hubert this was a bad idea, but he insisted. I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

"What?"

Still not looking up, Edelgard says, "He insisted it would be alright, but."

"I'm just not sure why you're sorry." Byleth shakes her head. She rubs her hands over her face, steeling herself for whatever this conversation has become. "I'm sorry for - oh! Your scars aren't what I was ... Ah."

"Hm?" Finally, Edelgard glances up at her.

"Your training has paid off," Byleth manages, keeping her expression as blank as possible. "I just hadn't seen the results."

Edelgard frowns, eyes narrowing. "You've fought with me for over a year."

"That's not what I meant." Byleth covers her eyes with one hand, now. "I should have been the one to apologize. I was just surprised by - your arms are very -"

"My arms -"

"They're. Look. Look. Never mind. This conversation didn't happen." She could undo it entirely, if she wanted, but can't bring herself to. It would feel dishonest, somehow.

Byleth can feel Edelgard staring at her, but refuses to uncover her face and look at her. Eventually, Edelgard relents. "Fine, let's start over. Good morning."

"Good morning, Edelgard." Byleth drops her hand, taking a deep breath before opening her eyes again. "How are you?"

"Well." Edelgard shakes her head incredulously, then starts laughing. "Something very strange just happened, but other than that I'm fine. I have supply orders to go over."

"And I'm here to do your hair." Byleth nods sharply. "You can do your work while I help with that."

"Yes. That was the plan, I've heard. Well. Thank you."

Byleth very intently does not look at Edelgard's shoulders under the thin cloth of her gown, or at the way the fabric drapes over her chest, and certainly does not think at all about Edelgard's arms, nor about an embrace, months gone now, though some nights she does dream of it.

"You do know that I can do my hair on my own," Edelgard points out.

"I practiced, though," Byleth says. "So I may as well."

"You may as well," Edelgard agrees. The emperor does not ask her for help getting dressed, thankfully, which Byleth thinks she would not be able to bear - and only partly because she is no servant.

Edelgard goes over supply requisition documents, head bowed, while Byleth gathers her hair and begins to separate it into the sections required. She seems so at ease this morning, in her little room at Garreg Mach; Byleth wishes this morning were not during wartime, that she could trust that they would both live out the day without the ever-present threat of assassination.

The crown really is heavy, in a very literal sense. Growing up, Byleth had thought the statement to be literal, then learned metaphors, and is now re-learning the literalism though the metaphor still holds.

Somehow she keeps her hands from trembling, and with patience and care manages to get Edelgard ready, only briefly fixating on the softness and the smell of her hair.

"There," she declares at last, rubbing her thumb along the nape of Edelgard's neck, making sure not a strand has gotten loose. Edelgard sighs and leans back into the touch, and Byleth freezes, staring down at the top of her head; at how utterly relaxed Edelgard seems in this moment, here, with her. To think Hubert must get to see this every morning. Her mind briefly, absurdly, busies itself figuring out how to usurp the task from him permanently, before she forces herself to step away. "Did you need anything else?"

"I suppose not."

Byleth leans over her shoulder for a moment, looking at the papers on the desk. "Oh, be careful sending reinforcements to them; he's upset just about everyone in the region."

Edelgard sighs heavily. "I know, I know. Actually, would you like to help with this? With two of us it might make the work go faster."

"We should invite the others. After - after you've finished getting ready, of course. But with all of us -"

"It would devolve into argument." Edelgard rubs at her temples.

"Well." Byleth tilts her head for a moment, eyes slipping shut briefly. "We can at least delegate some of it. This -" she jabs a finger at a document on the upkeep of the army's horses and pegasi - "Ferdinand can handle. You don't have to do everything yourself."

"I'm the emperor."

"For how long?"

Edelgard's eyes narrow, slightly, her shoulders tensing. "Byleth."

Byleth is very good at keeping her gaze impassive when she wants to; though expressions have become more commonplace, it's easy to slip right back to a blank-eyed stare. "Is the position of emperor not part of the nobility?"

Years as emperor preceded by years as princess and months of torment and the long slow decline of her family, the death of ten siblings, have made Edelgard good at guarding her expressions, too. For a moment Byleth thinks she looks hurt; then, nothing. "I think you should go."

Byleth instead drops to her knees beside the chair, impulsively resting her head against Edelgard's hip, a hand at her ankle. "I don't mean you're unfit to rule, or that you're - I swore I'd protect you. I always will."

"Byleth."

"All I mean is - you deserve the same freedom as everyone else. From all of this."

For a moment, she feels Edelgard's hand on the top of her head, a single feather-light touch to her hair. "I have work to do."

"Right." Byleth draws herself up to her feet, backing up a step to offer a bow. "I - I'll. Tomorrow morning."

"Yes."

Without another word, Byleth leaves, and goes out into the daylight, heart as still as it's ever been. She has enough to do: meetings over meals and tea, discussions over the war table with the generals, ongoing negotiations with the burgeoning printer's guild about getting new pamphlets worked up for the ever-nearer end of the war. She wishes it were all over; she wishes she could be by Edelgard's side and not have to worry, but it's not, and she can't, so she plunges herself into work and the day passes by in a rush, as ever, time always moving a little too fast for her no matter how many times she tries to slow it down or turn its course.

-

Before Byleth can sit down to dinner that night, Ferdinand accosts her, demanding they dine together in the courtyard. Somewhat bewildered, Byleth takes her plate and follows him instead of sitting with the group of maids she'd planned to dine with. She offers them an apologetic shrug, nodding toward the ex-noble as she goes.

"Good evening, Miss Byleth," Ferdinand says, very seriously, once they're both seated.

"Hello, Ferdinand."

"I need to have a discussion with Edelgard."

Byleth looks down at herself, then back to Ferdinand, holding up her empty hands. "You have the wrong woman. I'm taller, but you can also tell by the hair. Mine is green."

"And a lovely shade, at that, though rather reminiscent of that beastly bishop's." When dining, Ferdinand is impeccably polite. He has his cloth napkin across his lap, and he cuts only a single piece from the fillet of loach on his plate before eating it.

Byleth has already carved everything on her own plate. "You know, I should probably learn table manners."

"Ah! I would be happy to help -" Ferdinand pauses. "No, no, I had a request to make of you. Do not distract me, villain."

"I'm still not Edelgard. And I doubt you need my help to have a conversation with her."

"It is not that I need help ... having the conversation. But with ... having it."

Byleth's eyes narrow with her confusion.

"Ah, I mean I am not sure what to say." Ferdinand sighs. "This whole idea, getting rid of the nobility. I still think it's a mistake. No! I know you disagree. That is why I am consulting with you."

"I can't imagine why."

"It is only that ... well, without my title, without my house, I am left feeling rather lost." Gazing off to the side pensively, Ferdinand tightens his hand around his glass of water. "And I find myself thinking - surely, the whole of Fodlan will be left feeling like that soon enough, without the firm guidance of the nobility. And if you and she and Hubert are dead set on this course of events, well. There must be some way to determine who will take the lead."

"So you've actually been thinking about it. Well, I hope you aren't going to say you should lead.

"Ah, you wound me." Ferdinand laughs, humorlessly, his smile wide. "Of course not. I know better than that, at least. Have a little respect."

"I'm sorry." Byleth shakes her head. "I don't mean to underestimate you."

"In any case, I had a proposal. I hope that Her Majesty will be somewhat less shocked by the prospect of me having an idea than you."

Byleth's face falls. She takes a long drink of water, and this time she's the one to look away, off toward the hedges. It's a warm spring evening but night brings a cool breeze, and she pulls her jacket nearer around her. "I really am sorry, Ferdinand. Please. Go ahead."

"Yes. Well. I was thinking - if there are to be no noble houses to pass along knowledge, there must be some way to transmit the things we've spent so long learning."

"Hm."

"I am proposing schools. More of them, open to all."

"The Officers Academy was admirable, but ... out of reach, to most," Byleth says.

"Precisely, which is why I am not proposing another one." Ferdinand sits back in his chair, looking confident again, suddenly. "My proposal would be - a school in every village. Put us nobles - former nobles - to work." He stumbles only briefly, at the word former. "Then at least the centuries of tradition won't be lost, and the country will still have ... we will still be able to find people to fill the roles that need to be filled."

"Ah." Byleth stares at him.

"And besides," Ferdinand continues after a moment. "You've seen how harsh Faerghus is to its nobility. And you've seen how Adrestia deals with ... undesirable elements. And the way the Alliance check one another. Without those structures in place - you'll get disowned cast-offs trying to lay claim to titles that don't exist, and disinherited sons insisting they still need to sire Crest-bearing children to legitimize something that supposedly doesn't exist, and you'll end up with houses that have no notion how to run themselves and with no traditions to merit their names. You need to offer them something else, or - well, once Edelgard's reign is over, I can't imagine this ignoble world of yours lasting long without devolving to yet more wars, even bloodier than the one we're in."

"I see."

Ferdinand smiles back, defiant. "Well?"

"You must already know how she'll react."

"I truly do not."

"It's an original idea," Byleth says eventually, still mulling it over. What puzzles her most is why Ferdinand came to her with his idea, but then - he couldn't bring it to Edelgard, and Hubert is absent, and she can't imagine who else he would be comfortable having this conversation with. Dorothea, maybe, but the chance for it to devolve into argument seems high, and Ferdinand must have realized that. It feels odd, being someone's last resort. "I don't see why you brought it to me first. It's nothing I would have come up with."

"And you think of everything." Ferdinand sighs heavily. "Well. I have given it my best effort, and even that -"

"No, no. It's good." Byleth kicks him under the table, startling him into looking at her. "I really am sorry, Ferdinand. It's - you're right. It's a good idea. I'm sorry if you've gotten the impression I don't respect you, because I do."

"Oh. Well. Thank you!" Ferdinand smiles, bright and genuine. "Then I shall have to tighten my proposal before presenting it to Her Majesty. However little my family name may mean in the days to come, I am still Ferdinand von Aegir, after all!"

-

It is a warm day in late spring when they win the war on the Church, the Sword of the Creator shattered inside Seiros's skull, and Byleth dies yet again. It keeps happening to her - she dies, she returns. This time can't be the last. She owes so much to the world and to Edelgard and Hubert and Felix and all the rest.

There is no voice taunting her when she returns, this time, just a drumbeat in her ears and Edelgard's arms warm around her.

If only the war was truly over, Byleth thinks, struggling to stay awake, overwhelmed by noise and exhaustion and utterly incapable of stopping herself from beaming at Edelgard.

-

That night, under a starless sky glowing orange with the haze of smoke and still-burning fires, the army turns its hands to rescue and recovery.

The fight has gone out of the kingdom's soldiers; a few from the church hold out a brief but futile resistance. The imperial army opens the store rooms, and, on Byleth's insistence, begin to distribute food to the refugees of the still-blazing fires. The rest of their forces turn to helping the citizenry put out the blaze; wyverns and pegasi bring water from on high, as soldier and orphan alike form lines with buckets to douse what they can.

Just before dawn, it begins to rain. By midday, the city no longer burns.

The next few weeks of occupation seem to last forever. There's so much to be done, to clean and rebuild and restore. Fhirdiad had been untouched until the Immaculate One chose to light it as votive to her own need for control over humanity above all.

Byleth feels responsible, somehow, and only wishes they could have finished this all five years ago. Still: her heart is beating, and the Immaculate One is dead at last. She braces a foot against the beast's skull, yanking out the sword she embedded there hours ago, or the hilt of it, anyway. It feels like and brittle as bone in her hand, the blade broken. Green ichor drips slow and thick to the ground, and she tosses it aside.

Caspar squawks, dodging out of the way "Hey, hey!"

"Sorry," Byleth tells him, not bothering to suppress a grin. Maybe she should be upset to lose a sword of such power, but she's barely used it these last several months.

"You think we could cook her?" Sylvain asks, hands on his hips as he stares up at the body. "Some good old saint steak."

"I've never eaten a dragon. I want to try it," Caspar says, wonderingly, then laughs. "I sound like Raphael. What ever happened to him?"

"Who knows," Byleth says, entirely too quickly, remembering the way her sword had run through him and remembering the smell as the flames consumed him. Images like this haunt her, sometimes, but she always presses them down. "I doubt anyone's eaten a dragon."

"It seems sort of sacriligeous," Linhardt says, rubbing at his chin. "I know she was propping herself up as a false deity, but it's still weird."

Petra pulls out a dagger, advancing without warning past the unspoken perimeter they've formed. "I would like to be eating a dragon." Dorothea grabs her before she can actually try cutting through the hide of the downed dragon before them, arms wrapped around Petra's waist, head over her shoulder, whispering something that makes her laugh, though she doesn't quite put the dagger away and keeps eyeing her target.

"You guys know I was joking, right? Her blood is green," Sylvain points out. "Everyone's just fine eating something with green blood? Really?"

"N-not everyone," Bernadetta says. "Wh - what if she's poisonous?"

"Exactly," Linhardt says, and Sylvain nods feverishly, looking releived to have someone else agreeing. "Poisonous. We could all die."

Caspar puts his hands on his hips. "Do you think it's cannibalism, or what? She was kind of a person sometimes -"

"No one is eating the Immaculate One," Hubert says. He sounds very tired and yet the menace remains in the low rasp of his voice, frustrated as it is.

"I agree with Hubert," Byleth says. "Let's not, please."

-

As soon as they return to Enbarr, Edelgard formally dismisses every last noble, whether in person or by letter - not the clandestine depositions and skulduggery she and Hubert had devised at the start of the war, but a wholesale dissolution that no one quite knows what to do with.

A few nobles try to start an uprising, but most of Fodlan's mercenary bands are either too tired or have already, somewhat suspiciously, been paid to be elsewhere, don't participate; the citizens they might rouse for a standing army refuse, too, when there's word from the capital that such conscriptions are a thing of the past. Most of these little rebellions are put down within days.

One goes on nearly a week with a particular ex-lord sending angry letters and raising an army totalling nearly a dozen that does absolutely nothing but harry local villages, demanding food and drink as their tax and noble due.

Byleth rides out with Felix and Sylvain to put an end to it. The three of them can best whatever this man has to offer. His lands are a solid day's ride away. Byleth keeps her pegasus grounded so as not to outpace her companions. 

They pass through his former lands quickly, pausing briefly in late afternoon for a meal at his estate, and, after asking some farmers for directions, catch up with him before the sun goes down. Their quarry walks alone with no soldiers at his heel, but still he wears his house's colors and a billowing cape that marks him as someone self-important if nothing else.

The former lord sees Sylvain first - tall and imposing in his black armor on top of a black steed, like an omen - and raises a hand in a friendly wave. "Ah, finally! Reinforcements from the capital! Did my men send you this way?"

"Sort of. Well, you've got the capital part right," Sylvain says, making his horse circle the man, jostling him in the process. There's a casual indifference to it, with only the barest hint of amusement in reaction to making the older man stumble and nearly fall. "I hear you've been breaking the rules. No more nobles means no more nobles, and that means you."

The man stares at him, eyes wide, before sinking to his knees. The field behind him is full of a near-ripe harvest, just waiting to be reaped. The golden wheat bows low and yet still towers over them all, casting the road in shadow. "Fine. Then kill me! Make a martyr of me."

"No," Byleth says, disdainful. Felix, to her right, shakes his head and scowls.

"You won't even give me the dignity of death?" the man asks with a sigh. He's older, in his forties, gone soft with age even while the rest of his household is lean from years of hardship.

Byleth stares at him, consciously keeping her hand away from the sword at her hip. Her hands clench on the reins, and her pegasus shifts uneasily beneath her, feathers bristling. "We went to the estate first. You have a family. Alive."

"Not that it matters. They have nothing, now." His head hangs low and heavy, shoulders slack. "Relegated to dining with the servants. Cleaning the household as if they were maids themselves - nothing left to them."

Byleth has talked to those maids, and the man's wife and daughters. All of them seemed worried about him. One gave up the knowledge that he was just scared about not being good enough for them anymore, and that one she's decided to keep in contact with in the future should issues arise in this region again. For now, this mercy and a few coins will have to suffice to earn loyalty and updates from her new contact.

Sylvain, disgusted, says, "And you're nothing, I guess? Go on, can't you see she's trying to let you live for your family's sake?"

"How, when I've no title, no right to my own land?"

"And you think they'd rather have you dead," Sylvain says, incredulous. "Pathetic."

"You're of more use to them alive than put down like a feral hog. Figure it out," Byleth says. The closest she comes to doing the man harm is slapping him, which startles him, and leaves a red handprint on his face. She can't muster much more. He isn't worth it. "Come on."

The whole ride back, Sylvain and Felix bicker over nothing. Byleth tries to intervene, once, but they both snap at her, so she bends time backwards and lets them bicker.

-

Byleth does not remember a time before her long employ as a mercenary in her father's company. From her earliest memories, she was at least in training - swinging a sword, helping make meals, mending clothes and helping ferry messages around camp. She did not form friendships, exactly, but certain people seemed more willing than others to do her favors, and occasionally she returned this as she realized that having capable allies on her side was useful, and that cultivating those alliances made good sense.

Friendship is something she only learned at the Academy and afterward, during the war. She enjoys the company of every last one of her former students.

Making friends does not mean, however, that she has stopped cultivating assets and allies. Though the Black Eagle Strike Force is capable, she's made sure to cultivate favor exchanges with stablehands and cooks and messengers, and guards and soldiers.

She's sure Hubert has gotten to some of them first and that he knows exactly what she's been doing over the past six months, but so far he hasn't obviously interfered and so she's let it be.

There is still no interference when she sends Felix off to put down a seditious ex-noble who insists that his power was granted by the saints themselves, that Cichol had graced his household a thousand years ago as if that somehow entitled him to rule his own lands and those of his neighbors besides. Said noble had vanished for three years during the war, only now reappearing in former Alliance territory to try and reclaim his lands.

News comes to Enbarr within a few weeks of Felix's dispatch that the noble can no longer trouble anyone, as he met a group of bandits on the road and met his end.

Felix returns only a day after the rumors. Byleth meets him at the stables, where Felix ends his report with, "He was a fine swordsman, but I don't think he'd fought anyone on his own in years. He fought like a showman, or a student too frightened he might actually hurt someone."

"And still you call him a fine swordsman?"

Felix shrugs, combing his horse's shaggy side with a comb. The beast is dusty but looks in good health. Felix has never been much of one for horses, but with how far he needed to travel it had seemed expedient enough that he didn't argue. "It doesn't matter how fancy your footwork is if you can't survive."

"That's true."

Sylvain bursts into the stable at that moment, shouting, "Felix!" and startling all the horses.

"Here," Byleth calls, rolling her eyes.

Sylvain leans over the door of the stall, eyeing Byleth - cleaning tack - and Felix - combing the horse. "You two scheming again?"

"We don't scheme."

"Sure, sure," Sylvain says. He winks. "Unless you're planning to elope -"

"How many times do I have to tell you -"

"No!"

Felix and Byleth answer at the same time. Byleth eyes Felix. Asks, "How many times?"

Felix scowls. "Sylvain is an idiot."

"Yeah, I know that," Byleth says, waving a hand toward Sylvain, who laughs. "I mean - Sylvain, why do you think we're going to elope?"

"You're always having secret meetings. What else am I supposed to think?" Sylvain's smile seems strained, maybe. "Half the time when you're around I can't even get him to spar with me since he insists you're the only one worth his time."

"Felix, please spar with Sylvain. Sylvain, I promise we're not going to elope." She pauses. There's still a ring that weighs heavy in her pocket. She needs to talk to Edelgard, some day, but keeps thinking it's too selfish of her to try. "Not with Felix, anyway."

"Oooh, the Professor does have a heart."

"I'm going to murder you next time you call me Professor," Byleth says, nonthreateningly.

"Sure, sure. Which of us still has a working Heroes' Relic?"

"I could kill you with a training sword."

"She could," Felix agrees. "I've seen her do it."

For one moment, Byleth tries to remember when she killed Sylvain, then remembers that no one else remembers her meddling with time and that Felix has, in fact, seen her kill people with a wooden sword. Not her finest moments, any of those incidents, but they happened. Byleth stands, pushing her way out of the stall past Sylvain, going to hang the tack up again. They both seem puzzled by her departure.

"So if you and the Professor aren't eloping," she hears Sylvain saying as she leaves, "does that mean you'll go drinking with me tonight?"

"Fuck off."

"That's not a no!"

-

Edelgard visits recovering towns and villages when she can, and Byleth always follows. Sometimes she worries that Edelgard or Hubert will point out that someone else could accompany her - there are any number of decorated, trustworthy soldiers available after the long years of war - but neither of them does, and so they travel together, Edelgard on wyvernback, Byleth on the same pegasus she stole all those years ago.

Not stole, precisely - she'd requisitioned it for one battle, then bought it with her own coin and rarely rode it but made sure the beast was well-cared for nonetheless. They don't share a particularly close bond but it doesn't throw her off and generally obeys her commands and that's all she can ask for from a mount since she prefers to fight on her own two feet.

Edelgard seems to almost enjoy turning down hospitality, refusing to be another burden on a people so long consumed by war. So they sleep in scant rooms in inns or empty rooms in people's houses, and take simple meals when their hosts insist. There are no grand feasts or parades put on in the emperor's honor; none of these villages would have ever earned her father's attention, or that of emperors before him.

Edelgard visits, and Edelgard talks to the citizenry - the workers, the blacksmiths, the orphans and widows; priests and scholars and healers and farmers.

Byleth talks, too, when she can, on the rare occasions they're apart for these trips.

They nearly share a bed, once, but Byleth demurs and sleeps in front of the door, leaned up against it, standing guard even in her sleep. In the morning, Edelgard wakes her with a light touch to the top of her head, and Byleth squints up at her and sighs. She leans into it for just a moment before getting up and stretching, trying to work out the soreness in her neck from the awkward position.

The best part of any of these trips comes at the end, after Byleth has sent her pegasus off with some hapless stablehand, and she and Edelgard take care of the wyvern together. The creature loves a good bath and rubdown by its rider, and tolerates aid from Byleth, who is more than happy to sit and clean tack with such company.

"You know," Edelgard says, this time. "You've never asked what my wyvern's name is."

"I didn't know it had one."

"I named him Nemesis," Edelgard whispers, grinning, and Byleth can't help but laugh.

"Really? Really." Byleth is only half-focused on cleaning and polishing the beast's tack, too busy watching Edelgard and envying the wyvern the tenderness it's being shown. Not that Edelgard has ever been unkind to her, nor lacking in sweetness, but Byleth wants things she still only half understands. She's puzzled together desire and longing, mostly, but as to what is to be done - she's unsure, and has no notion of what she could offer in return, and thinking of it so transactionally may be a mistake but she doesn't know who to ask.

"Doesn't he look like a Nemesis? All big and mean." The great beast, large even for a wyvern, currently has its eyes closed and is making an absurd chirping sound as it leans into a damp rag Edelgard has pressed to its side.

"I'm not sure I've seen a wyvern that's less mean, honestly."

"Well, in battle. He's used to me after all this time. I got him - ah. Not long after you ..."

"Sorry," Byleth says, stupidly, not sure why exactly she's apologizing for her own deathsleep. She hadn't meant to leave Edelgard alone so long.

"He's heard a lot about you, though," Edelgard says, staunchly refusing to look her way. "I told him all sorts of stories during the war, you know."

"Good ones, I hope."

"Mostly." Edelgard pauses, then shakes her head. "Ah, I can't even joke about it. Of course they were all good ones."

-

Toward the end of summer, Edelgard asks the imperial gardeners who have stayed on to help her with a special project. None of the gardeners, not even Byleth's favorite, will tell her what the project is, but she wakes one morning and goes to the window and sees Enbarr decked in flowers.

The garden had been tended with utmost care all through the war; there was an ever-present need for healthy blooms, because soldiers kept dying. Each one, each grave, needed the honor, and so the gardeners had worked diligently to pollinate the reluctant blooms, to pick the gardens free of dangerous pests and to keep watch for any sign of rot or disease. The task had been treated as seriously as any other wartime duty, but now the war is done.

Byleth wanders the city on her own that morning, visiting shops and sitting in quiet plazas and watching children play-fight and chase each other through fountains, clamoring over centuries-old sculptures worn with years of such behavior. Some of the children have made crowns for themselves of the flowers, while others just have one tucked behind their ear or worked into a buttonhole.

The whole city is fragrant from all the blooms. The cobblestones are stained in blue and pink and yellow by flower petals crushed underfoot, and Byleth prefers the sight of that to stone stained with blood. As she wanders, she gathers flowers here and there, anemones and wisteria and lilies. She stops at different guildhalls and meeting places along the way, giving away a few flowers before amassing more. She has other business to deal with - trying to recruit tradesfolk to the schools Ferdinand is busy trying to set up, trying to understand the political tensions in the city and learn who has influence over what and why - but still she ends up with a whole bouquet of blooms of varying sizes, colors and fragrances.

Eventually she returns to the palace. No one stops her from going to Edelgard's room, a guard only nodding at her as she passes. The emperor isn't there, but Byleth leaves the flowers on her bed.

When she leaves, she almost goes back to reclaim them, worried the gesture will seem too morbid since flowers have been for the dead for so long, but forces herself to move onward with the hope that the gesture will be interpreted correctly. She doesn't actually know what she means by it, but Edelgard is smarter than she is when it comes to matterns of interpersonal relationships.

-

On her way to her room, she runs into Lord Arundel, who smiles and corners her, out of sight of anyone else. "Fell Star, do you need a reminder of who got you where you are?"

Byleth looks at him blankly.

"I've heard some terrible rumors about you, dear friend," he tells her, voice dripping with mock concern. "It seems you don't appreciate all that we did to help the emperor. I hope you won't make us have to find a replacement so soon. It would be so tedious trying to recreate that particular experiment."

Byleth considers this. "No one will replace her."

"Good girl," Lord Arundel says, clapping her on the shoulder companionably. "I knew you'd see the light eventually. I have some policy suggestions for you; I recommend you ensure they get to the emperor's ears without her learning the source."

Byleth is angry enough to have goosebumps, but stays expressionless and still as a stone or a hill. Her pulse pounds in her ears, her beating heart fueling her frustration. "Go on, then. What would you have me do?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw for animal harm this chapter

As time passes, the empire's generals drift away. Petra returns to Brigid. Caspar goes wandering, sending regular letters to the capitol about things he's seen and fights he's gotten in. Linhardt vanishes, and it takes a good deal of asking around to find out he's gone wandering himself. One of Byleth's spies relates that he's been wandering with a blue-haired man, so she assumes as long as Caspar is alright and writing letters then Linhardt must be fine too.

Bernadetta, at least, stays in Enbarr, refusing to go anywhere near the former Varley estate; her father's been run out, none of the locals particularly loyal to him after years of mistreatment, and without his title - well, Byleth is sure Hubert knows more of the situation than she does, but she has yet to inquire. In any case, Bernadetta spends a great deal of time inside drafting speeches for Ferdinand to deliver and generally attempting to do as much advising as she can without having to see anyone. A shame: Byleth had thought her confidence much increased by the war. But then, they've all changed, to one degree or another. She may just need time to reemerge. It's useful having her around, despite this, so Byleth doesn't push, lest Bernie run and hide somewhere no one can follow.

Sylvain ends up sticking around, thankfully. She doesn't know what she'll do if he does decide to leave, because a decision like that wouldn't be easily undone by a few hours of fiddling with time. Thus, Byleth is grateful that he hangs around. The former heir of Gautier, without the responsibilities that entails, ends up taking odd jobs at the docks and shipyards, loading and unloading ships and building and repairing old ones. Gautier territory was coastal, and she's relieved he seems to take well to the work. Because Sylvain stays, Felix stays; or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, neither of them leaves the city.

Meanwhile, Dorothea stays in the city far longer than Byleth would have anticipated.

"I really thought you'd have left," Byleth says to her one evening. "Brigid isn't so far."

"It's not, but ..." Dorothea's smile is tired as she leans back in her chair, swirling her glass of wine. It's a cool evening in the courtyard. A few birds are still singing as the sun sets over the city. "It's been nice being home again and not having to fight."

"I see." Byleth nods, thoughtful. "You know, the monastery was the first place I ever stayed for that long. Some day, I'll have been here longer than I was there. The idea of returning home is - it seems nice."

"It won't even be that long," Dorothea says. A breeze stirs her hair, and she sighs, taking a long sip of wine. "Another year or so and you'll have set a new record. Did you really not stay anywhere more than a year when you were growing up?"

"I was a mercenary," Byleth shrugs. "We were always traveling. Winter was about the only time we stopped, and sometimes not even then."

"How strange. I spent most of my life in Enbarr. Not always the same place, but ... Enbarr." Dorothea looks up at the sky, then turns her head to the side, thinking. Then: "Felix! Come have a drink!"

"I don't want a drink," Felix says, though he breaks from the path toward his quarters and enters the dimly-lit courtyard instead. The shadows under his eyes look so much deeper in the early evening, the last of the sun doing him no favors.

Byleth snaps her fingers, lighting a spark inside a nearby lantern and then another. The flickering light brings at least some warmth to Felix's face.

"Byleth." Felix nods. "Dorothea."

"Here." Dorothea offers out her glass. "I don't have another cup, but I've had enough tonight."

"I can get one," Byleth says, and goes to do so, and another bottle of wine. When she returns, Felix is glowering as Dorothea leans across the table grinning at him.

To acknowledge Byleth's return, Dorothea offers a small nod and an exaggerated wink. "Felix was just telling me all about his latest adventures."

"I was not," Felix says, scowl deepening even further, though his eyes are bright with suppressed amusement. "I was telling her that where I've been is none of her business."

Dorothea raises one finger. "Which says to me you've been up to something sneaky, and I want to know."

"No," Byleth says, and Dorothea sits up a little straighter at that, peering at her curiously. "Sorry, Dorothea."

"Hmm." Dorothea frowns, looking genuinely unhappy with that reaction.

"It's not that I don't trust you, it's just." Byleth pauses, thinking. "You're leaving soon. The war is over for you."

"The war really is over, though," Dorothea says, slowly. "It's done. Please don't tell me there's going to be another one so soon."

"No, it's over for you," Byleth repeats. "You don't want to know. I'm sorry."

Dorothea sighs heavily. "Felix, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He takes a long drink, holding his cup out when it's empty. Dorothea frowns at him, but leans forward to refill it for him. "Don't worry about me. I've already been fussed over by someone even more annoying than you. Now I just want to get drunk."

"And this is where the magic happens," Dorothea says, gesturing broadly at the room, apparently satisfied by that answer. If she is, Byleth is too. Dorothea's always going to be better than her at reading people. "And what better companions? All right, works for me. But you know you can tell us if anything's wrong."

Felix smirks, at that, before settling back in his chair, already - slightly - looser. Not that Felix ever gets particularly relaxed, but he is at least not on high alert. "So when are you leaving for Brigid?"

"Oh, after this show's engagement is finally done," Dorothea says. This is the first Byleth's hearing of a planned departure date, but she also hasn't asked. She knew it was coming sooner or later, so the details seemed irrelevant. "So - two weeks, I think?"

"That soon?"

"It can't happen soon enough, if you ask me," Dorothea says with a delighted laugh. "I can't wait to see what life's like outside of Fodlan."

"Ah, is that all," Felix says, dryly. "No other reason."

"Oh, hush, we're not all as repressed as you are. Fine, yes, I'm also looking forward to seeing Petra again. Are you happy now?"

"If you're going to see Petra," Byleth says, "I have a letter I was writing her. You could take it." She does not, in fact, have a letter. She probably should - Petra wrote to her a few weeks ago - but this seems as good an excuse as any to actually pen one, and it won't reflect so badly on her if it arrives alongside Dorothea instead of by random courier. Dorothea will at least provide distraction and maybe then Petra won't think about Byleth's rather poor job of staying in touch.

Byleth really does try to write the others and keep track of their exploits, but there's enough going on in Enbarr, and absolutely none of it is anything she's used to or good at. Byleth has lived her entire life on the battlefield, it feels like, except that year at Garreg Mach, and even then she'd ridden into battle enough times each month that it hadn't made much difference. War, mercenary work, teaching; all of them kept her focused on what she was best at. In a Fodlan at peace, not working as a mercenary - she isn't quite sure what she's meant to do. Trying to steer society's course takes up a lot of time, given how ill-equipped she is for the task, try as she might.

"Of course," Dorothea agrees, and launches into a story about the last letter Petra wrote her, and about what she knows about theater in Brigid and her hopes for spreading the joys of opera and trading insight and techniques with those from abroad. She talks enough for the three of them, and Byleth's glad Dorothea's willing to put up with entertaining two particularly reticent swordfighters when she could be anywhere else.

But for now, she's here, and Felix is actually laughing at some story of hers, and Byleth feels all right, for now, though her mind keeps drifting, wondering how Edelgard is, wondering whether she or Hubert will track down those who slither in the dark first, and thinking about gardening. She has radishes that should be ready to harvest soon, and apples have started to appear in the market from orchards just north of the city. Maybe she could get into the logistics and distribution of food. Something similar enough to managing a convoy's supply chain, but usually with slightly less blood involved.

"Byleth." Felix is frowning at her.

"Hm?"

"I was talking to you."

"Oh. Sorry." Byleth tries on a smile, then immediately gives up when both Felix and Dorothea wince. "I'm just thinking about apples."

"Apples," Felix repeats, somewhat incredulous but not unfriendly. All Byleth can answer with is a shrug, at which Felix smiles. "Hm. If those are coming into season, that means peaches are almost done."

"Are we really talking about crop harvests right now?" Dorothea asks, somewhat incredulous. "You come to my favorite spot - mine! - and talk about crops, even after I offer you all my wine?"

"I'll buy you more wine," Felix says. "And you can't complain; I'm going to have to spend the next month listening to Sylvain complain about how he can't get peach sorbet anymore. I keep having to remind myself harvest season is a little earlier here than back h - where I grew up. Sylvain can't handle it, the idiot."

"Ah, hearing him complain's much worse than running out of wine. He gets so mopey." Dorothea nods sagely. "How is he doing, anyway?"

Felix stares at his wine for a while before finishing half the cup. "He's fine."

"You're impossible," Dorothea tells him, refilling his glass for him without prompting. Felix raises it slightly in imitation of a salute. "You have to tell me more than that, come on."

Byleth tries to help: "He doesn't like to gossip."

"I wasn't trying to gossip, I was just interested in a friend's affairs!"

"You're not friends with Sylvain," Felix points out. The two of them aren't on bad terms, necessarily, but they rarely speak or interact at all from what Byleth can tell. Sylvain has not gotten particularly close to any of the Black Eagle Strike Force, aside from Felix, who only counts on a technicality. He seems to keep himself occupied despite that, but Byleth wonders, suddenly, if he's lonely. Sylvain has always had a bit of a melancholy streak and maybe being here is making it worse. Or maybe not. She genuinely doesn't know, inept as she sometimes is at recognizing others' emotions, especially when they're trying as hard to conceal them as Sylvain always does.

"No. But I'm friends with you and you're friends with him, so I have to worry about him by proxy." Dorothea makes an expansive hand gesture that might be evocative if Byleth could place any meaning in it. Felix, at least, looks just as confused as she is, if not more.

Felix frowns at her. "What?"

"Never mind." Dorothea sighs theatrically. "Send him my regards, anyway."

"You're still not friends with him, but fine, if I must."

"How do you put up with ... this?" Dorothea asks Byleth, waving a hand in Felix's direction. "Is he always like this?"

"He's always like this," Byleth confirms, grinning.

"Like what?" Felix demands, which sets Dorothea and Byleth both to laughter.

It's hours before any of them get to sleep; Felix wanders off for a while to get more wine, and the three of them end up briefly at a bar before Dorothea finally remembers she has somewhere she needs to be early in the afternoon and she wants at least a little sleep while the sky's still dark.

-

Sylvain storms up to her at breakfast the next morning, looking ready to kill. "You."

"Good morning," she tries, bewildered. Her head hurts from the amount of wine she drank last night. She has no idea how her father managed every day, considering he regularly drank far more than she did the previous night. Figuring out why Sylvain is mad at her is entirely beyond her limited capabilities this morning.

He plants his hands on the table, looming over her. He's only slightly less intimidating without the dark knight armor, still wearing all black. His smile is absolutely humorless. "You nearly got Felix killed."

Byleth squints at him. She doubts he's talking about the wine; wine very rarely kills people. It certainly can, but it tends to be a longer process than a single night of extremely restrained excess. "Did I? He seemed fine."

Sylvain lowers his voice, leaning in close. "He told me he lost a leg."

That can't be right. Byleth was right next to Felix for hours. She would have noticed if he'd been down a limb. "He had it last night."

"Because a healer managed to find it and reattach it," Sylvain spits. "What the fuck are you doing, letting him run off alone like that? What's going on? This veneer of peace. Something's wrong and you're wrapped up in it."

"It's a ... There are certain forces in the world who don't think Edelgard is ruling correctly, and we're dealing with them. I can't tell you more than that."

"If you're not going to tell me - whatever, I'll figure it out myself. Look. Next time you decide you don't care about Felix or if he lives or dies, at least let me go with him."

"I care," Byleth says, bewildered. She cares enough to spend time with him and spar with him and respects him enough to use his talents for tasks they're best suited toward. Felix is like her - at his best when he has a purpose and something he believes in, and at his worst when left alone with his thoughts, because he's nearly as bad at dealing with his emotions as she is. Byleth has a difficult time imagining herself not caring about him, and a harder time seeing how it might seem from the outside as if she doesn't. She most certainly doesn't want Felix dead. "He's my best friend. I trust him to do what needs to be done, that's all."

"He's your -" Sylvain starts laughing, and ends up sitting down on the floor, head in his hands and shaking from it. "Your best friend. Really."

Byleth looks at him for a very long time, unsure what she hopes she'll see. "If you think it's for the best, then I'll listen to your request. Please go with him next time."

Eventually, Sylvain stops laughing, and lies dramatically on the floor. "Your best friend. I really don't get you."

"People keep telling me that." Byleth frowns. Edelgard has said similar - how distant she is, how incomprehensible. Her heart is beating harder than normal, like a particularly insistent and unwanted guest at the door. She slides off the bench and drops into a crouch over Sylvain, who's apparently decided to stay on the floor for now. "Sylvain. Would you believe me if I said I never had any friends before the Academy?"

Sylvain stares up at her with a startled smile. "What the fuck."

Byleth shrugs. Sylvain keeps staring at her, laughing again before falling quiet. "You actually mean that, don't you? Not one?"

"Not one," Byleth agrees. "Rhea experimented on me, when I was born. I didn't have a heart, or it didn't work, maybe. I don't know. I didn't feel anything."

"You always did seem heartless."

"I mean it literally." Byleth presses a hand to her chest, feeling her heart's steady rhythm. "I didn't - before ... Before I arrived at Garreg Mach, I didn't have emotions, I don't think. I got hungry and tired but I just went through life and did what seemed to make sense and didn't care about anyone. When my father died, that was the first time I ever cried. I didn't have friends. I didn't have anything. You can ask El about the heart thing; she's heard it. It didn't start beating until we killed the Immaculate One. It's true, I promise."

"Ask ... oh, Edelgard. El. Cute." Sylvain puts his arms behind his head, crossing his legs, as if he always spends his time lounging around on the floor of the dining hall. "So why does no heart mean no friends, exactly? You were warming up to people way before you killed Rhea."

Byleth has not given this anywhere near enough thought. She shakes her head, frowning. "I don't know." Byleth decides, eventually, to lie down next to Sylvain. They're getting odd looks from the few other people eating breakfast, but she doesn't mind. No one is close enough to eavesdrop so they can stare all they like. "I know for you it's been almost seven years since we met, but I spent five of those dead. I've only cared about whether other people live or die for two years. I don't know why."

"Huh. Well, that explains a few things, sort of. Raises a lot more questions, but - wow, that's a lot to lay on a guy."

"I guess. I'm sorry for not being a good friend to Felix." Byleth pauses. "You're better at it than me. At least he's got that."

"I'm not a very good friend either, if we're being honest, and I think we are," Sylvain says, taking on the same tone he does when he's flirting with a girl he's never met. "Listen, I was trying to yell at you, and you got all serious on me. Can't you just take a scolding?"

"I thought I had."

"Eh." Finally, Sylvain stands, dusting himself off and straightening his clothes after his sojourn on the dirty floor. "Look, I'm gonna go. I need to make sure Felix hasn't lost any more limbs since I last saw him."

"Okay." Byleth pauses. "I really am sorry. I figured ... well, he can't go home. I wanted to give him something to do."

"You can give him something to do without sending him off on suicide missions," Sylvain says. He leans over Byleth, hands on his hips, and she closes her eyes instead of looking up at him. "I found something to spend my time on just fine. Let him work a normal job. It's fine."

"He wouldn't be happy with that and we both know it." Byleth sighs heavily. "I know I'm not a very good friend. But I - why do you think I spent so much time making sure you didn't die?"

"Hm?"

"I couldn't have done that to him, too," Byleth says. "I couldn't let him lose anybody else. Not after everything. I promise, I really do want what's best for him, even if I don't know how to show it."

"Huh," Sylvain says, thoughtful. She hears him step back. "Hm."

"Go on." Byleth makes a shooing motion. She'll get up eventually. "Go make sure he's okay. Like I said, you're better at it than I am."

-

A few weeks later, Byleth is down at the docks, listening to a rousing speech by a tall, dark-haired dockworker trying to convince anyone passing by that, just like the more skilled trades - the smiths, the tanners, and so on - that dockworkers, too, should have a guild of their own. Quite the crowd has gathered already, and more people keep drifting over to listen and argue. She thinks she sees Sylvain halfway across the way, but he's quickly lost in the crowd, not even his bright red hair standing out in the vibrant mass of people.

Apparently the dockworkers in Derdriu have already set up such a system, which a few sailors in the crowd attest to; the merchant class there is a little less well-heeled than in Enbarr and so they saw fit to protect themselves by working together for their common goals.

A messenger tugs at Byleth's sleeve, though - she can't help but stand out in a crowd - and she allows herself to be led away.

"Miss Byleth," the messenger tells her, when they're somewhere a little quieter. "Heard word you might want to check in on your nemesis. There's people that aren't too happy with your, uh, your scheming, they said."

"My what?" Byleth asks, eyes narrowing. "Who's my nemesis?"

"Dunno, miss," the messenger tells her, their eyes wide and earnest. "Sorry."

"Who hired you to come find me, anyway?"

With a shrug and downcast eyes, they say, "Not going to tell, sorry, miss. Pain of death." They draw a flat hand across their neck, sticking their tongue out and letting their head flop sideways. "And no, a little coin won't convince me. Value living more than that. Hope everything's all right. Listen, anybody trying to threaten you, they're not too bright, but they paid me, so that's all there is to it, yeah?"

"I - yeah, yes," Byleth agrees, eventually. "Well. Thank you, I guess."

She goes back to hear the rest of the speech, and tries to take part in the subsequent debate and conversation that breaks out - and at one point gets in a fistfight with an over-aggressive captain who's trying to get people to stop lollygagging and get to work - but she's distracted trying to figure out the message.

Then she sees a wyvern fly overhead, headed south-southeast, and realizes she only knows one living Nemesis. Without another word, she turns and runs toward the palace.

-

The aerie is quiet this time of the afternoon. Nemesis, that great obsidian-scaled brute, is lying curled up on the floor, instead of perched on high with the other wyverns. A tannish-colored wyvern is nosing at him intently, a hungry look in its eye, and Nemesis occasionally manages to snap at the other creature and drive it back, though to decreasing effect each time.

"Back off!" Byleth shouts at it, and the creature stumbles backwards, then growls at her. She lets a wisp of magic curl around her hand, and it growls again but paces back a few steps before taking off, the wind from its wingbeats sending her hair whipping around her. She brushes it back out of her face, staring up at the departing wyvern, which lets out an angry squawk, then looks down at Nemesis again. 

She'll need to get him isolated from the others; in this state, it won't be much longer before the rest make a feast of their former flockmate. Her fortune lies only in that wyverns, despite their size, are not especially heavy - their bones, like birds, are mostly hollow. Still, Nemesis is particularly large, and barely able to move under his own power. She manages to get the best to half lean on her, wings dragging on the ground, stumbling and shuffling along as she manhandles him into an isolation stall.

She should call for someone. She does, after a moment, finding a wyvern tender and sending the girl off to find Edelgard.

While she waits, Byleth starts to investigate Nemesis - checking his eyes (clouded), tugging his jaws open to look at his tongue (pale and dry). Her first assumption is poison, though she isn't sure which. While she knows a good deal about poisons that can be used against humans, wyvern biology was never a strong suit of hers. Maybe she should have asked after Hubert, or a veterinarian, rather than Edelgard.

In any case, it's not long before Edelgard appears, with Hubert trailing after her, always the diligent shadow. Concern writes itself across her face the moment she sets sight on Nemesis, and she rushes forward to clutch the wyvern's head to her chest. Nemesis makes a pitiful sound, at that, nuzzling against her, antlers catching on the fabric of her shirt.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Byleth has to admit. "I got - I was at the docks, and someone told me to come here."

"Who's someone, exactly?" Hubert asks; he looks aside for a moment, and an instant later more stablehands appear as if from nowhere, fussing over Nemesis and conducting a far more thorough examination than Byleth had managed.

"I don't know. The person who told me was young. Maybe thirteen. They'd been paid, and I don't think they knew anything more."

"Either they were thirteen or they were in disguise as someone that age." Hubert sighs, sounding suspiciously condescending. "If you'd deigned to detain them, maybe we would have something."

"They said someone had threatened them into telling me. I really don't think they knew any more."

Even as she talks to Hubert, Byleth keeps watching Edelgard, full of concern. Her chest aches seeing the emperor so upset. They've had so few losses, since the war, and Edelgard is clearly fond of the wyvern. Byleth hates to think the wyvern might die and that it might, obliquely, be her fault. Or: not her fault, precisely, but the fault of people trying to make her do something she doesn't want to do, who are entirely too willing to resort to underhanded tactics to get what they want.

"I don't like that they targeted you with the message," Hubert seems to decide, pacing as best he can in the limited space. Nemesis' breath is coming in loud, ragged gasps as the wyvern shudders and listlessly allows himself to be manipulated and moved around.

"I don't like that they targeted a damn wyvern," Edelgard says, miserable and furious, getting up at last to join them and let the staff try and ascertain what's causing the trouble. Usually she keeps her cool better than this, especially in front of people outside her circle of confidence.

"Come, we should -"

"I'm not leaving," Edelgard says, looking over her shoulder for a moment before glaring up at Hubert.

"Of course, Lady Edelgard. My apologies." He shifts his weight, looking briefly uncertain.

Byleth wants very much to give Edelgard a hug. Hubert, too, come to think of it, though with an entirely different set of motivations. These are her friends, and neither of them are happy at the moment. Rightly so, too. But she thinks it might be odd and altogether too intimate to hug Edelgard in front of everyone - not that people don't hug, but - and Hubert would never allow his image to be tarnished in that way, so she stands awkwardly and watches a stablehand pour some vile-looking brew down Nemesis' throat.

Nemesis gags, pushing up onto his wings in a mockery of a four legged position, neck outstretched as he retches loudly. Watching his scales bristle and relax over and over as the wyvern works to throw up holds a grim fascination for Byleth, who's never seen a wyvern get sick before. Finally, Nemesis, nearly choking, throws up - a thin stream of bile dripping from his teeth and jaws, and a large, rough ungainly rock dropping from his open maw.

Byleth would recognize a crest stone anywhere.

"Saints, what is that?" the veterinarian asks, patting Nemesis on the head and nudging at the stone with one foot. Nemesis, still shuddering, sinks back to the ground, the side of his head laying in his own sick. The doctor kicks the stone away, as if he's worried Nemesis might try to eat it again.

As if Nemesis had decided to eat a crest stone of his own volition.

-

Edelgard spends the night in the stable, and so too does Byleth, because of course she does. She could think of nowhere else she'd rather be - not when Edelgard is in need and she's able to provide some measure of stability or comfort.

They don't talk much. Edelgard, after a time, comes to sit next to her, and eventually her head is on Byleth's shoulder, and then Byleth's arm is around her. Byleth is still unused to the beating of her heart, and just how strong it can get. She feels her pulse in her throat and her wrists and just behind her ears, all resonant with the steady thud of a heart now working of its own volition. She thinks, maybe - then decides the better of it, because Edelgard is too upset, and Byleth wouldn't want her to make that sort of decision under duress. So she sits, and keeps her arm around her, and closes her eyes and thinks about supply chains and about the ongoing labor dispute between the dockworkers and the trading companies, and thinks about the mathematics of keeping a city fed and supplied.

She does her best not to think about how small and solid and warm Edelgard is beside her, and quite studiously avoids remembering seeing Edelgard in her dressing gown, of how strong her shoulders are and the narrowness of her waist. After all, they're watching over a sick wyvern; thinking about that would be self-indulgent and not at all helpful, and Byleth does very much want to help Edelgard.

She stays awake at least an hour past when Edelgard finally falls asleep, watching Nemesis tremble and wheeze, the wyvern sleeping fitfully. At least Edelgard remains fairly still, her sleep seemingly untroubled despite everything. Byleth turns her head slightly, pressing her lips to the crown of Edelgard's head and inhaling deeply, memorizing the smell of her.

Eventually, while thinking about the prospects of the year's grain harvests, Byleth falls asleep.

-

Nemesis makes it through the night, and after making sure Edelgard is alright, Byleth returns to the docks to try and track down the messenger who'd warned her. She fails, miserably, even after hours of asking very pointed questions.

Eventually, she returns to the palace and walks directly into Hubert's office. Not a lot of people are allowed to walk in whenever they please, but Byleth is a trusted enough advisor that no one stops her.

Hubert looks up from cleaning a knife, the rag he's using stained a rusted red from the task. His desk is a mess of paperwork and maps, scattered with letters both sealed and unsealed, and a number of different seals - both the von Vestra and von Hresvelg seals, and others he shouldn't rightly have - lined up neatly in a row. "I'm surprised to see you here. You were at the docks all day; I thought you'd still be there."

"Yes, well," Byleth agrees. She looks at the ground, intent on counting the fibers of the unpatterned rug on the floor instead of having to see Hubert's expression. She doesn't want to see him judging her and finding her wanting, even as she admits this: "I'm not very good at your job."

"No, you're not," Hubert agrees, though not unkindly. He must be aware of everything she's done, everyone she's spoken to. 

Byleth isn't bothered by this, just mildly disappointed in herself at her fumbling, fledgling efforts. She has to find a use for herself in peacetime eventually. "You've been humoring me."

She finally looks up to see that Hubert's idea of a reassuring smile doesn't merit the word, but at least the intention is there. Byleth can't judge him too harshly on the attempt. She has no room to criticize when her own expressions are so inconsistent and unfamiliar. "A little, yes."

Byleth scoffs, feeling her mouth twist in a wry smile. "Well, thank you. Look, I need your help. When I talked to - the person I talked to, they said they couldn't tell me who hired them on pain of death. And now I can't even find them anymore, let alone the person who put them up to it. I have no idea how to keep them safe, but maybe - you've got more practice. Could you. If you can find them, you could protect them, right?"

"Yes." Hubert pauses. "I shouldn't promise that, but I can try, and certainly do better in the attempt than you could."

Byleth rolls her eyes, dusting off her shoulder as if she's dismissing the insult. "Then please."

"Of course," Hubert says, with a bow and a smile.

-

With Hubert on the case, Byleth feels vaguely useless. She hovers around the palace and the aerie and stables, flitting from place to place, not getting much done at all. When she ventures into the city, it's with very little in the way of intent or direction. She visits her favorite printer a few times without any new pamphlets for them to distribute, just for want of anywhere to go; she spends a lot of time in bars.

Without meaning to, she runs into Sylvain, who's just coming off work - shirtsleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp with sweat, and looking generally pleased with himself even after spotting her. He bounds over, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, Professor, what're you doing out this late?"

"I don't know," Byleth says, not bothering to shrug him off or to scold him for the name. There's no use in either action. "I was talking to the printer, and then ... I wanted a walk?"

"Walk with me to the bar, then," Sylvain decides, giving her a wink. "Let's get drunk."

Byleth blinks at him. He's never asked to spend time with her, not since she turned down his advances back at the academy, and she feels suddenly wary. "Why would I do that?"

"To relax. We can pick up girls together, it'll be great." Sylvain backs off at last, looking startlingly sincere. She wonders when he figured out she'd never be an option. Probably a while ago; he hasn't hit on her in ages. He always was more perceptive than he let on.

"I don't want to pick up girls tonight," Byleth says. "But I'll go with you anyway."

Sylvain offers his arm, and Byleth narrows her eyes at him, then shrugs and links their elbows. "Then you can be my wingman, it's fine. Whatever works." 

She doesn't dignify that with a response. When they at last arrive at a tavern, intentionally far from the palace, the bartender greets Sylvain with a friendly wave of recognition as they settle in at a booth in the corner.

"Come here often?" Byleth asks. She tries a wink, just to see what will happen.

What happens is, Sylvain puts his hands over his heart and reels backwards dramatically in his seat, accidentally knocking his head against the booth in the process. He's still rubbing at the back of his skull when he says, "Maybe you can learn after all."

"You know, I almost thought about asking you for dating advice once," Byleth says, resting her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her closed fist. "But I'm really glad I didn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing," Byleth says, and is grateful when drinks arrive because she can distract herself with hers for a little while as she gathers her thoughts.

"You're kind of a killjoy, you know?" Sylvain says, then gives up entirely on faking charming and slumps a little in his seat. "Look, what's been going on? There's a really worrying number of assassinations going on for a country supposedly not at war anymore. Half of them were people we allied with during the war. How's it all connect?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You said the other day there were people who didn't like Edelgard's rule, and then right after that, her wyvern gets sick? Professor, I may not be good for much, but even I can figure out those are related. Listen, if you're sending Felix out on these weird missions all the time, if you meant it when you said I could go with - you've gotta let me in on whatever's happening."

Byleth sighs, and finally explains, as best she can, the situation with those who slither in the dark. The tale is told haltingly and somewhat meanderingly, as she stops herself whenever anyone walks too near their table, but she manages to get through what she knows eventually, and Sylvain listens intently. He makes a lot more eye contact than Felix does. 

Byleth is nearly done explaining the full situation when she distracts herself enough to say, "You know, you're the only person I ever see Felix look in the eyes."

"I - what?" Sylvain stares at her, startled into a confused smile. "Okay?"

"You were making eye contact," Byleth says. "And I was thinking about how Felix never does."

"Yeah, okay," Sylvain says. "I mean, I guess you're right, but I don't know what it has to do with the whole shadowy conspiracy we were talking about."

"Nothing, really. It just reminded me. He wouldn't let anyone else look at him like that, I don't think."

Sylvain swipes a hand across his face, letting out a heavy breath. "Look at him like what, exactly? What are you getting at? What does this have to do with anything? You tell me about a conspiracy, get me all fired up, and now all you want to talk about is if Felix can make eye contact with people. Who cares?"

"Me. I'm just glad you know each other," Byleth says. "Thank you for not dying. I appreciate it."

"For not - I half wish I had sometimes. You know I still have nightmares about that battle? But I guess it's better than not having them." Sylvain shrugs. "Sometimes I dream about how it would've turned out if I stabbed you, when you made me get on your stupid flying horse. Like if I could have - talked Felix over or something, I don't know."

"You wouldn't have succeeded. He'd have killed you first." That battle haunts her dreams, too. Most of her dreams are like that: various timelines overwritten creeping back in on her, memories no one else shares resurfacing over and over. She wonders, now, if her former students are haunted by those echoes as well. She wonders just how long they go on, and whether some of those timelines carried on without her, somehow, if time isn't coming unwoven into a hundred disparate threads. Probably not, she decides, but that doesn't mean she's any less haunted, or that Sylvain doesn't dream about things that she undid months ago. "But we all did live, eventually, and now you can keep Felix alive for as long as you want."

"What a way to phrase that."

"I just mean - you can ... exist. Together. At the same time, in the same place, alive. That's nice, right?" Byleth covers her eyes with her hands. "I keep thinking I should undo this whole conversation, but I'm not going to. I just want - you want to protect him. You want to walk the same path he's on, even if it's dangerous and stupid and you don't know if you trust the person giving him orders. I hope you don't ever stop wanting that. I want you both to have that."

Sylvain just stares at her; she peeks between her fingers and sees him watching, then shuts her eyes again.

"I'm a coward," Byleth decides to say, eventually. "But I think you should - I think you're ... You should let him know what he means to you."

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair, eyeing her thoughtfully. He always sees more than she means for him to, somehow. "Yeah, okay. Hey, question. How many times have we had this exact conversation?"

"What? Once." Byleth pauses, turning that question over. "Ah. You figured it out."

Sylvain says, "Nobody else has, huh?"

"Not yet." Byleth is tempted to turn time back - maybe far enough to avoid going anywhere with Sylvain at all, maybe just a little way in the conversation - but she doesn't. She said she wouldn't, and she wants her word to be worth something if only to herself. "I keep telling you things I shouldn't."

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to people who you're not really that close to," Sylvain says, shrugging. "Maybe you're less worried I'll judge you."

Byleth shakes her head quickly. "Oh, it's definitely not that. I still haven't forgotten the death threat."

"That was one time! And I was kidding!"

"You definitely weren't kidding."

"Look, we're even now, right? I threatened to kill you one time, then I didn't kill you, so it all evens out."

"You actually did almost kill me a few times," Byleth says, because that's something she can share, now. "You got really close. It was frustrating."

"No shit?"

Byleth shrugs. "Why would I lie?"

"I don't know." Sylvain laughs. "Can we have a normal conversation, for once? This sucks. How about the weather?"

"It's fine." Byleth pauses. "I hope it rains soon. I like the rain, as long as it's not too cold."

Their dreadful conversation is, fortunately, cut short. On the other side of the tavern, a group of patrons has started singing sea shanties, and Sylvain drags her over so they can sing and dance instead of fumble through any more attempts at small talk. The drinks keep coming, and the dancing is fun, and at the end of the night Sylvain ends up going home alone despite having danced with a few other girls through the evening. It's almost a relief - no one slaps him or throws a drink on him, and Byleth only has to rescue him from an overenthusiastic dance partner who tries to overstay her welcome once. It turns out that not talking to Sylvain about anything consequential is a lot more fun than the alternative.

Byleth feels almost content when she gets back to the palace that night, despite everything. The long lonesome weight of bearing her powers feels lessened, somehow, having someone else know about them, and it's nice to dance even if she isn't very good at it. Probably there are other people she should tell - Edelgard, most notably, and Hubert - and the idea of doing that feels far less intimidating now than it did before.

-

As ever, Byleth awakens with the dawn, utterly incapable of sleeping in despite having been out late. Her head hurts from too much drinking and dancing, and she's still rubbing her eyes as she meanders her way toward the kitchens to see what she can find. Much of the staff has stayed on, even without so many nobles to entertain - they've been replaced by merchants and guild representatives and a still-evolving rotation of commoners not involved in any particular trade who still have needs they want to bring somewhere. At some point, all of this is going to need to work without Edelgard, but they aren't quite there yet.

Just after she gets herself some bread and cheese to break her fast, a messenger finds her, saying Hubert demands an audience. She didn't know he got up so early. It seems uncharacteristic; she always associates him with the night, and rarely sees him so early, but she also rarely seeks him out.

Hubert is writing something when she steps into his office, and he doesn't look up for a long while. She remains patient, though she envies him his coffee. She should have made tea before coming. She gnaws on the heel of bread and stares up at a painting on the wall. It's of a horse.

Once, at the academy, she gave him a painting she'd liked - a green valley in shadow, dark clouds overhead pierced by a few beams of light. She had thought at the time he might murder her over the gift, he'd disliked it so instantly and intensely. Now he decorates his office with paintings of horses. Time changes people, sometimes. She wonders if he picked the painting himself. It's the only other painting in the room, and the few tapestries hanging on the walls are plain, purely utilitarian to keep out draft, with only the most workmanlike of geometric patterns in greys and golds. There are a few sculptures on the shelves that seem more like Hubert's style than the horse, with its flowing mane and delicate beard. Byleth chews slowly as she stares at it. She's never had much of a head for art.

"So, we found your messenger," Hubert says, and her attention jerks back to him instantly. "They're already out of the city, and I found out who hired them. A merchant calling himself Odhert, supposedly sailing out of Hyrm. None of the port's registers show him ever docking in Enbarr before, and of course no one's heard of him outside this one trip, where he failed to pay any of the dockworkers who helped unload his ship and abandoned half his sailors before he and his ship vanished three days ago. Sloppy work."

"Ah. I heard about the ship. I didn't make the connection." Byleth shakes her head, then shrugs it off. "So. Do we think he's actually from Hyrm?"

"Or somewhere nearby, at least," Hubert says. "Yes."

"I'm going, then," Byleth decides. "I'll take Felix and Sylvain. We'll find the captain and -"

"Ah, you're getting ahead of yourself," Hubert says. He rolls up the letter he was writing earlier, sealing it, before pulling out a map and spreading it out on his desk. Byleth stands to look at it, smoothing out one corner. The paper is old and creased, soft to the touch. "Though I appreciate your enthusiasm. We'll need to hire a ship."

"You're coming, too," Byleth states, not bothering to raise her voice in a question. The _we_ made it obvious enough.

"And the emperor. I'm hoping to leave tomorrow evening." Hubert pauses for a moment, thinking. "Ferdinand can manage affairs here while we're gone; I'll ask Bernadetta if she can provide assistance. We'll need to tell Edelgard, of course. By sea, it should only take two to three days to get there, barring bad weather or sea monsters."

"The trip to the Alliance is usually calm this time of year." Byleth traces her eyes over the map, thinking. Overland won't work anywhere near as well. She's not a good sailor, but she at least doesn't get seasick. She'll need to decide which weapons are worth taking, and pack clothing for the voyage. She hasn't worn her armor very often since the end of the war, and has been thinking of having a new set made, but there's no time for that now, she supposes. "Do we know where we're going once we land?"

Hubert shakes his head, frowning.

"Well. Felix can help there, at least," Byleth decides; his tracking skills aren't quite as good as Leonie's, but Leonie, wherever she is now, if she's anywhere but the cold ground, isn't on their side. At Hubert's nod, she continues. "And there aren't many villages in the area. We can ask around."

"Knowing where to begin should get us much of the way toward our goal," Hubert says. He looks to the side. "This may be where they've been hiding all along. They've been getting nervous, lately. I think your sloppy work finally pushed them too far and they've given themselves away without meaning to."

"So being a rookie paid off." Byleth grins, and Hubert laughs ruefully.

"Yes, well." Something about the way the light hits him makes Byleth realize, then, that he's been awake all night, rather than rising early like herself. She wonders when he plans to sleep, but doesn't ask. On the boat, maybe - there will be a little time for idleness then, but preparing for this particular voyage will eat up a lot of time.

"I'll inform Lady Edelgard and the others this afternoon," Hubert says. "If you could send for Bernadetta, I would appreciate it. We'll meet in the throne room just after the bells chime three."

Byleth looks over the map one last time before stepping away, backing toward the door. "Hubert ... Thank you."

Hubert meets her gaze levelly. "Of course. You want revenge as surely as Lady Edelgard or I do. We all have our reasons."

"I'll be going to the mercenary's guild after this," Byleth says. "Then to Bernadetta's. Is there anything I can get you in town?"

Hubert waves her off. "I can supply myself, but thank you."

"Of course." Byleth leaves, but before she exits the palace, she does slip a few coins to a messenger to have a particular request seen to, with a few coins extra to make sure that the message is kept in absolute confidence and no one else learns of its delivery.

-

Ferdinand is pacing the throne room, rambling about how a mare in the stables nipped his poor gelding the other day. Edelgard is resting one elbow on the throne, toying with her hair with her other hand and listening intently. On the steps in front of the throne, Bernadetta is working on embroidering something, looking surprisingly relaxed.

When Byleth and Hubert walk in, Ferdinand freezes in place, and Edelgard straightens her posture before relaxing again upon realizing it's just them.

Byleth is especially pleased to note her earlier message has paid off - Ferdinand has, at long last, done something with his hair besides wearing it loose or pulling it into the loosest of tails. His bangs are neatly brushed, and a low braid trails down his back, tied off with a red ribbon. And on top of that, still more of his hair has been pulled into a crown braid, starting near his temples and going around the back of his head, tidily done. With the impending news of his temporary responsibility, Byleth had thought it as good a time as any to remind Ferdinand that he'd once promised to come up with a suitably impressive hairstyle all his own. 

"Hubert!" Bernadetta hops to her feet, briefly getting tangled in thread before managing to extricate herself and give Hubert a hug. "It's been a while. And it's good to see you, Professor!"

Byleth sighs heavily.

"S-sorry, it's a hard habit to break," Bernadetta says, though she notably doesn't use Byleth's actual name. For now, Byleth will let it go. She'll probably always let it go for Bernie. "So why are we here? Not that it's not nice to see you ..."

"Lady Edelgard, Byleth and I are going to be leaving Enbarr," Hubert says. Byleth glances at him, questioningly - she'd thought Edelgard would stay behind. Hubert gives her the slightest incline of his head, barely even a nod, to confirm she's heard correctly. She doesn't question him further - she's sure they had quite the argument about it already. Mostly she's just grateful that Hubert bothered warning Edelgard about their upcoming departure rather than keeping it secret, like he does with so much of his work. This particular task is too important to be relegated to the shadows that way.

"Leaving Enbarr? For how long? Is this permanent?" Ferdinand asks, frowning. He lifts a hand as if he expects to find loose hair to fiddle with, and looks embarrassed when he remembers that his hair is down, instead fussing with his shirt collar as if that was what he intended all along. "I was not expecting ... This is irresponsible, and I will not stand for it!"

Hubert laughs, which gives Ferdinand pause. "No, it's not permanent. We should return in a week. But that is a week of a nation without its emperor, and someone needs to be here to provide stability in her stead."

Ferdinand looks at Bernadetta for a moment, thinking, then his eyes widen with the realization. "Ah! You are entrusting us with all of Adrestia?"

"For a week."

Ferdinand bows deeply, though it does nothing to hide the brightness of his smile. "Then Bernadetta and I will do our best to keep everything from falling apart for a week."

"Why me?" Bernadetta asks. It looks as if she wants to hide behind Hubert, but Hubert is the one who's delivered the bad news, so she shifts uncertainly on her feet before attempting to hide behind Ferdinand, never mind that they're nearly equal in height and she isn't concealed at all. At least, unlike the old days, she isn't trying to hide under a table or a book.

"It's too much for one person," Byleth says. "And you're here, and we trust you."

"That, and you're quite competent," Hubert adds, looking askance at Byleth before giving what must be his interpretation of a reassuring smile to Bernadetta. Byleth manages not to flinch, but Bernadetta seems completely convinced by the expression.

"I hope people won't get mad about us being in charge," Bernadetta says, still fretting despite herself. "The guilds are all picking their own leaders, but nobody picked us."

"Lady Edelgard did."

"That's different," Bernadetta says, fidgeting with her belt. "But if you say so."

"I say so," Edelgard says, chiming in at last. She has her hair pulled into a loose ponytail knotted on the side of her head today, and Byleth wonders if Hubert helped or if Edelgard did it alone. She wonders if Edelgard won't let her do her hair while they're on the boat. She'll have to ask Hubert, later, if he'd be willing to relinquish his duties.

There's something comforting about being a weapon of war again. Byleth is looking forward to fighting and strategy, the things she knows best, instead of muddling her way through city and continental politics. Interesting as those things are, she's still out of her depth and doubts anything she's done has made much difference. The most use she has comes from being a figurehead; her presence and seeming approval can sometimes tilt the scales in a debate even if she isn't actually taking part. She's barely fought herself, these last few months. Even the few agents of those who slither in the dark she's eliminated have been felled by Felix's blade rather than her own. Her efficacy is limited, and even considering that minor death toll, it's Hubert who's gotten them the information they need to launch a more major strike against their enemies.

"The plan is to claim that Byleth has fallen ill and needs to seek out a specialist in Alliance territory. We'll charter a boat and go from there. Byleth, if you could make a show of being unwell," Edelgard says, and Byleth obediently fakes a cough. Edelgard smiles. "Well. You're not the best actor, but it will have to do. Hubert will find us a ship. I'll write the decree about Ferdinand acting as my regent in absentia this afternoon."

"Won't people think it's weird you're both going along, if it's Byleth who's sick?" Bernadetta asks. "I'd think it would be more believable the other way around ..."

"You're correct, but we don't want people thinking the emperor is in danger," Hubert says. "She can't show weakness now."

"I think it's romantic, Edelgard accompanying her second most trusted advisor," Ferdinand says, and Byleth can't fault his ranking - Hubert is a clear first place, and Ferdinand probably falls in third, which is better than he might have hoped for back during their academy days. Byleth feels decidedly content to inhabit second place. "It could even be good for her image, showing her human side."

"You don't think it'll undercut her - um, strength and impartiality?"

Ferdinand waves the concern off. "Only for those who have already written her off. No, I think the idea is sound, for something created on short notice. Hubert has always been good at this sort of thing."

"It's my duty," Hubert agrees, cheeks gone vaguely pink. "Anything to help. Well. With that, we should get back to readying ourselves for the voyage. Ferdinand, I'll meet with you again over dinner to discuss the current situation in the city and what you might be facing."

"Over dinner," Ferdinand echoes, nodding eagerly. His eyes are bright, his smile wide. He seems to have adjusted well to life after the war, taking his duties as advisor seriously - falling into the role as if he was born to it, which he was. Still, he's worked hard to get where he is, and if he hadn't been up to the task he never would have been offered it. "Yes, of course, I will look forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a little snippet of something Felix gets up to offscreen during this chapter, if you're interested in that; it didn't fit with the POV of the main fic but I wanted it out there in the world... [it's on Twitter](https://twitter.com/aflightybroad/status/1198224818350514176)!
> 
> Also I commissioned [a lovely drawing of Ferdinand](https://twitter.com/boisteruse/status/1198247612446576640) because I couldn't think up a good hairstyle on my own so please enjoy that!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A labor dispute, a proposal, and an ocean voyage.

With Nemesis ill and Byleth's pegasus not strong enough to carry two riders across the entire city, they end up borrowing one of Ferdinand's horses to help make their way to the docks. Byleth sits behind Edelgard, arms around her waist, head on her shoulder, doing her best to look exhausted and unwell. This mostly entails keeping her eyes closed and not moving except for the tiny motions required to keep her balance on the back of the placid old gelding Would It Have Been Worth It. 

Would It Have Been Worth It, possibly the most absurdly named creature Byleth has ever interacted with, served Ferdinand all through the long campaign to topple the church, and now lives in contented retirement in the palace stables. The old gelding seems pleased as anything to be ridden again, holding his head high and prancing along the streets joyfully. 

She asked Ferdinand, once, about the name, and he had given her a long explanation about how for a horse to have a proper traceable pedigree, each steed needs a unique name, and how he had chosen this name from a poem he'd liked at the time. He does not identify the poem and Byleth does not ask. Byleth thinks this is all very foolish. She has a pegasus and has never once even considered naming it, while Ferdinand is giving animals entire sentences as referents. (He once assured her that he has another horse simply named Patches, but she found out through Hubert that the poor animal is named Patches Of Snow In A Winter Wood.)

People wave at them as they pass, and there are whispers and questions. Byleth ignores them. She's feigning sleep, which means she won't listen, either, except to make sure no one's threatening them.

They're in a hurry, thus the horses. The situation at the docks has been devolving steadily, and they want to leave befor any sort of open conflict breaks out.

What they find when they arrive is not open conflict, exactly. Byleth squints one eye open, and is greeted with the sight of a huddle of dockworkers arguing with a few merchants. The merchants are flanked by a group of uneasy-looking mercenaries, all with their hands on their weapons. There are more dockworkers than mercenaries, but the dockworkers are, by and large, unarmed and unarmored.

Not a single person is boarding or disembarking from a ship. The creaking of wood as vessels rock on the waves seems subdued and lonesome without people calling out to each other or ships embarking on their voyages, without anyone calling out their arrival or arguing about right-of-way through the port. The ships are still. Cargo remains untouched on the dock.

Byleth closes her eye again. They've stopped short of the conflict, and she can feel Edelgard's apprehension - the way her shoulders have stiffened, and her muscles tensed.

"Ah." Hubert's voice, nearby, to their right. "I had heard this was going to begin tomorrow, but it seems things have devolved quicker than suits our purposes."

"What is going on?" Edelgard asks, her voice low. People are just starting to notice them - the mounted retinue, the emperor in red. Byleth, feigning sleep. "I knew there was a labor dispute, but ..."

Just to the left, entirely too cheerful, Sylvain speaks up. He said he would meet them at the docks, and here he is. Byleth doesn't look to see if Felix is there, but decides he must be. "Work stoppage. Some of the Alliance merchants have been getting awfully stingy about pay, and a few people've died because they've been rushing people... It's been a whole thing."

"I heard about the accidents, but." Edelgard pauses. "Just because there's a work stoppage doesn't mean we don't need a ship." Something about her posture makes Byleth think she's about to guide the horse back into motion, so she tightens her arm around Edlgard's waist, fingers digging into her side.

"Wait," Byleth says, voice low as can be, just for Edelgard to hear. "If you're going to wade in, you need to side with the dockworkers."

"Oh?"

"There are more of them," Byleth says. "And offering some merchant enough coins or enough imperial favor to get him to set sail despite the work stoppage would be - we can't leave Ferdinand to deal with that." That, and Byleth is not about to go letting Edelgard side with the rich over those who work for them.

"Ah." Edelgard remains tense, but the fight seems to go out of her. Their mount steps nervously in place, letting out loud huffing breaths.

Byleth is supposed to pretend to be sick. She knows this. But - she dismounts, instead, and wades into the fray, despite Edelgard telling her to wait. Sylvain trails along after her; looking over her shoulder, for just a moment, she sees Felix, who's hesitating and indecisive about whether or not to follow. She lets him make that choice on his own, looking forward once more.

She reaches out a hand to one of the dockworkers, a thirty-something woman with close-cropped hair who appears to be doing the brunt of the talking this morning. "Good morning. I'm Byleth Eisner, imperial general and aide to the emperor."

"Morning," the dockworker says, nodding somewhat warily as they shake hands. Her grip is strong and sure and slightly intimidating. Her accent places her from somewhere far to the north; Sreng, maybe. "Li Zhao, representative of the dockworker's union. What can I help you with?"

"Ah, excuse me," one of the merchants says, elbowing into their space. "Miss Byleth, how lovely to meet you. I'm Lord Alphonse of -"

Byleth stares at him with her blankest expression, doing her best to channel the old Ashen Demon title. "I was speaking with Li Zhao."

"Of course, it's only that -"

"No," Byleth says, and turns away again, head high and shoulders back. "So, what seems to be the trouble?"

Li Zhao glances between her and the merchant captain Alphonse, before finally settling on Byleth again. "I'm pleased to see the imperial household finally taking an interest. It's been long enough. Well. Some of the trading companies have decided to undercut the usual rate of pay for dockworkers, and we've decided we're not going to work if they do that."

"The port has to stay open," Alphonse says, again trying to angle in despite Byleth's attempts at intimidation. He seems a bit desperate. "The new pay rate simply won't work; we won't make enough. If you want more money, you'll simply have to work more -"

Li Zhao sighs heavily. "He keeps saying that, but that's half of why some of our comrades died. Rushed and overworked, trying to make enough money to survive. And he thinks we can work more?"

"It will be your fault if Enbarr starves from lack of trade," Alphonse declares, rather darkly. He then brightens, entirely unconvincingly, looking up the road toward where Edelgard sits mounted, Hubert and Felix flanking her. The sky is grey and dreary behind them, the air slightly damp with morning fog. "Listen, the emperor is right there. I'm sure she'll listen to reason. Go fetch her, shall you?"

Byleth's eyes narrow. "Ah, you'd rather talk noble to noble?"

"Yes, yes! You understand."

"There are no nobles," Byleth reminds him. Her hand twitches toward her sword, but she restrains herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Sylvain grin at her before turning back to whatever conversation he's having with another dockworker. 

"I mean, so everyone claims," the merchant says, waving a hand in the air dismissively. "But you can't deny our birth or our heritage. It's in our blood, no matter what gets decreed from on high. You're common born, aren't you? You wouldn't understand. We've got the land, the money, the family names. What is there stopping us calling ourselves what we are but a worthless decree?"

Byleth is very proud of herself for not punching him. "Listen. Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, but your name means nothing to me or anyone here. I need a boat, but first I need you and your little retinue to listen to what these people have to say."

"We've listened, and it's garbage," Alphonse says derisively. "If anyone has a real problem, they can just work for another crew, or bring it to me directly. None of this ganging up nonsense."

Byleth looks past him to the mercenaries, who look profoundly uncomfortable with the whole ordeal. Finally, she raises a hand, waving Edelgard over. Ferdinand's gelding, seeming to sense the mood, walks purposefully, managing to appear both stately and somewhat threatening as it recalls its proud history as a warhorse. Being on horseback gives Edelgard a height advantage she rarely has outside of the throne room, and she looks down at the merchant captain dismissively.

"Ah, my Emperor," Alphone says, bowing deeply. "Finally someone who will see reason."

"What I see so far is someone keeping the docks closed when I most urgently need a ship."

"It is not I who is keeping the docks closed, but the so-called guild refusing to work. Surely something can be arranged," Alphonse says. Byleth glances at Edelgard, but the emperor seems unmoved, thankfully. "If nothing else I can have some of these mercenaries help crew a vessel; it's not like I'm not paying them enough -"

"No," Edelgard says. "I don't think that will do. Byleth, what are the dockworkers' demands, exactly?"

Byleth looks up at her. Something about Edelgard's tone of voice has her heart beating faster than usual. It is not merely that she is the emperor; that has never been especially important to Byleth one way or the other. Edelgard's presence is imposing, her voice firm and commanding, unyielding when it needs to be, backed by a steadfast and unwavering faith in her own beliefs. Byleth cannot imagine following anyone else the way she does Edelgard - thinks back to her years at the academy, begrudgingly doing Rhea's bidding, and how much different it felt compared to working alongside Edelgard. She considers her answer for a moment before going with the shortest response: "Fair pay and more regard for safety."

Edelgard gives Alphonse her most withering stare. Byleth can't look away. "And you cannot find it in yourself to relent?"

"I'll be bankrupted."

"Then perhaps you don't deserve to be a merchant."

"It's not just me! They've refused to work with anyone today, and we grow tired of it. Listen, I am from a noble house -"

"Not any longer," Edelgard says. "Do you wish to taste my general's blade, or do you wish to trade another day?"

"Ah." Alphonse takes a step backward. None of the mercenaries try to reassure him at all; no matter how well paid they are, it's unlikely they're willing to lift their swords against the emperor herself in the middle of Enbarr. Not everyone loves Edelgard, of course, but few are probably willing to assassinate her over something so petty when their own deaths would be so quickly assured. "Listen, I'm a reasonable man. I can negotiate. I just want a representative from the government to help mediate between us. Find an agreement we all can settle on."

"Fine, Ferdinand von Aegir can handle it," Edelgard says. She turns, and, to the milling dockworkers, says, "People of Enbarr! I stand with you. I promise that you'll be treated fairly in this; you've made your voices clear, and I hear your words. The empire will find a way to give you what you require."

"Listen, Your Majesty," Alphonse says. "Be reasonable. Our demands must be heard as well. I'll take you wherever you're going on my personal vessel; we can discuss this rationally. Where are you even going? More importantly, why, at such a critical moment in history?"

Edelgard stares at him, impassive, clearly not planning on answering. She's left the city on various visits often enough, for a day or two at a time, that her departure now should not seem especially odd, though she's never needed a ship before this. 

The silence stretches on too long for Byleth's tastes, though. She wants to say something. Surely they must have some excuse - feigning illness won't work now, not after the show she and Edelgard have put on here. She steps closer to Edelgard; Would It Have Been Worth it remains still and placid, well-trained from years on the battlefield. Byleth stands on her tiptoes and tugs at Edelgard's dress, pulling her down into a very sudden kiss - she sees Edelgard's eyes widen. Then she lets Edelgard go, and says, "We're eloping."

It is quite possibly the stupidest thing Byleth has ever done in her life. She wants to kiss Edelgard again. She does not look at Edelgard at all.

"That was ... supposed to be a secret," Edelgard says, voice startlingly level. "And yet. You can see the urgency, surely."

"I cannot, in fact," Alphonse says, thoroughly caught off guard.

"That's - news," Li Zhao says, stepping forward again, as Alphonse winds up to carry on blustering. "Listen, we can get a crew together for you if you'd like. I can think of a few captains who might be willing to lend their vessels to help you travel, despite the current situation..."

"Actually," Edelgard says. "I think I would like to take Alphonse's ship."

"What," Byleth says, flatly.

"Without him," Edelgard clarifies, seeming very pleased with herself. "You, Li Zhao. Have you captained a ship before?"

"I was in the navy during the war," Li Zhao says with a shrug, head tilting to one side as she thinks through the question. "I only made first officer, not captain, but I can manage."

"Then you can finally have your captaincy," Edelgard declares. "Hubert, if you would see to it that Alphonse is shown the proper hospitality for a man in his situation until we return?"

Even Hubert seems startled, but it's the briefest flash of expression, hidden swiftly with a deep bow and the fall of his hair across his face. "Of course, my lady. It will be as you say."

"And hurry back." She pauses, cheeks red. "I would rather you were there for the wedding."

Byleth is fairly certain Hubert is going to murder her for this one, but she'd wanted to give some sort of answer. One that a few dozen people heard, and that will spread across the entire city within hours. Well, it's a good excuse for them to leave, if nothing else, and a better way to cover their true intentions.

There are a lot of things to do to get ready for departure, not least of which involves clearing Alphonse's belongings from his ship. There are negotiations to be worked out with the crew over pay and safety measures, and troops to be wrangled - they're taking a small contingent, which Byleth supposes is still readily justifiable even for a wedding, considering the importance of Edelgard's safety. Not that she's traveled with such a large detachment in months, of course, but it's a special event. Byleth busies herself with everything she can to keep herself as far from Edelgard as possible.

-

The number of things to do dwindles as time passes, and that makes it harder and harder to avoid Edelgard.

Byleth succeeds, only barely, until the ship is under sail and halfway out of Enbarr's harbor. She's up on the main deck, having already helped load what little cargo they're bringing that isn't weaponry, and finds herself leaning over the railing to enjoy the breeze and breathe. And then Edelgard is beside her, and she can't find an excuse to run.

"Hello, El," she says, finally, when it becomes clear Edelgard is waiting for her to speak first.

"So we're eloping?" Edelgard asks. Byleth glances at her out of the corner of her eye, then stares out at the water instead. It's flat as a mirror except for the wake of their ship, oars cutting through the water. She hopes the wind picks up soon, or the crew will end up exhausted.

"I had to say something." Byleth winces. "No, that's not how I mean that. I would. I mean." Byleth takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and lets it out slowly, before turning to stare at Edelgard. The emperor in profile is a sight to behold - pale purple eyes fixed on the coastline, white hair worn loose and trailing in the breeze, her dress a vibrant red against the pale near-white sky. She's smaller than Byleth, but her presence makes up for it; she is all Byleth can see. Byleth swallows, then lets out another heavy breath.

Edelgard's voice is tense, her hands cluching tightly to the railing. "Are you going to sigh at me all day?"

"I could," Byleth jokes, then shakes her head. "No. I would like to - I have been thinking about this for a very long time."

Edelgard turns to look at her, uncertain.

"About actually - asking you, if you would let me spend my life with you," Byleth continues, digging into her pocket and palming her father's ring, turning it over in her hands as she thinks. It's a familiar weight, one she's examined and clutched dozens of times, trying to find the right moment. "I meant to ... I don't know. I could never find the right time. I was going to wait until we had finally defeated our enemies and could be at peace, but that was - I was being a coward. I would have waited forever. I would - I will stay by your side regardless, of course, even if you don't share my sentiments, but I would - I would like it. If you did. That would be nice. Ah, I don't know how to ask this at all."

Edelgard's face is as vulnerable as Byleth has ever seen her, eyes wide and bright, eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I always hoped, after you chose me at the Holy Tomb, that you would choose me again. You are serious?"

"I am." Byleth nods. She runs her thumb along the outside of the ring one last time before cupping it in her hands and holding it out in offering. The jewels catch the light. The silver is slightly tarnished, but parts of it still shine and reflect the glow of the sun. She stares down at it instead of at Edelgard, feeling unsure, suddenly. She really had meant to wait a while longer. But then - it's been so long already. She has made her choice, over and over again, and will continue making it as long as she can.

"I had hoped you felt the same." Edelgard's hands are shaking as she takes the ring, but a smile has finally lit her face, her whole face gone slightly red as her eyes shine. "For the longest time, I thought I would have to walk this road alone, until I met you, and then I finally - and then it did not matter how many battles I had to fight or how many enemies I amassed, because you were by my side."

Byleth steps forward. They aren't alone, technically, as there are crew on deck, and she can see Hubert off by the ship's wheel at the helm, talking to the newly-minted captain. Even so - she lifts a hand to touch Edelgard's cheek, staring intently at her to memorize every detail - the softness of Edelgard's expression, the curve of her eyelashes, the way the light hits her forehead and the way her teeth worry at her lower lip as she looks up at Byleth. "Is it ... I didn't ask before. That was unfair. May I kiss you, please? If that's alright."

Edelgard tilts her face upward, pressing her cheek into Byleth's hand as her eyes drift shut expectantly. "Please."

Byleth has only kissed one other person before, despite having slept with two. She's a little unsure, but it turns out to be simple - she turns her head a little to avoid their noses bumping together, and presses her lips to Edelgard's, and Edelgard's mouth parts beneath her own. Kissing is so much simpler than Byleth had worried about. So many words are dedicated to the topic across so many books that she had assumed it would be difficult, somehow. But Edelgard makes it easy. Edelgard is warm and pliant and has a hand on her waist as Byleth stands before her and kisses her over and over again, simple and eager in this expression of affection.

This kiss feels like a reassurance and a promise. Twice, Byleth has seen Edelgard fall in battle, and twice she's turned back time. Part of her is tempted, now, to do it again and again, so she can relive this moment. Instead, she allows time to continue its forward motion, and for Edelgard to draw her closer, a hand on the back of her head, the other tight at her shoulder, clutching the fabric of her shirt. Edelgard's eyes are closed, by Byleth keeps her open, cataloguing every detail of a moment she will only ever experience once. No matter how many times they kiss after this - no matter how long it takes for them to fall into bed together - it won't be this precise moment in time. So: Byleth memorizes the feeling of the still, cool air and how warm Edelgard's skin is and the precise curve of her eyelashes against the top of her cheeks. The sky, behind them, is cloudless, washed out by pale thin sunlight. 

Despite the boat's persistent motion beneath them, Byleth feels very steady.

The wind finally picks up as the ship pulls out of the harbor, and the crew put the oars away and take to working the sails. This bustle of activity on deck is enough to break Byleth and Edelgard apart for a moment, both flushed red and laughing as they get out of the way. Byleth, for all that she likes to be helpful, has never been on a sailboat in her life. The most advanced watercraft she's ever interacted with was a canoe, though she's also been on her fair share of rafts. Most of her travel has been by land or, occasionally, sky, and she prefers it that way.

Not that boats are bad, per se, just that she doesn't know enough about them. Maybe she'll learn, over the course of the voyage. She doesn't like this skill gap even if she has no hopes of a naval or ship-based mercantile career. 

"I suppose we can't have a proper wedding, after that display on the docks," Edelgard says after a moment, still smiling. "Everyone will think we're already wedded when we return."

Byleth considers apologizing, but something stops her. "What does a proper wedding entail, anyway?"

Edelgard stares at her. "What?"

"I've never been to one," Byleth says, head tilted to one side. "The people I know who have gotten married just - declared themselves cleaved to one another and left it at that. Maybe they made an offering to the Goddess or a Saint or two if they wanted. Sometimes they would elope and come back married, but there wasn't much more to it than - traveling, then being married. I don't see why we can't do that, barring the Saint part."

"Byleth, you never cease to astonish me." Edelgard shakes her head, eyes wide. The smile never drops from her face, though, and never becomes any less genuine. At least there's that. Byleth thinks she is smiling too, without meaning to. "An imperial wedding is generally quite the occasion."

"Hm," Byleth says. "Well. This is a new era."

"Even so." Edelgard laughs brightly, turning her head slightly and hiding her smile behind one gloved hand. "Ah, maybe you're right. Well. We can discuss this later. For now, I am content knowing you have wanted the same thing I have wanted for all these years."

Byleth leans in again to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'll walk beside you and carry your burdens for as long as you need."

"No," Edelgard says, thoughtful. "No, I wouldn't have you carry them for me. We can share them, perhaps, but - my burdens are mine."

"I just want to be useful." Something tightens uncomfortably in Byleth's chest.

"You do not need to be useful to be important to me," Edelgard says. "Though you already are. Just by being you."

"Ah." Byleth runs her hands down her arms, looking off to the side. "I'm glad. Thank you."

-

"You know, I am terrified of the sea," Edelgard says later, belowdecks. They are in a cramped section of the ship that can only barely be called quarters. Li Zhao had offered the captain's quarters to them, but Edelgard turned them down sight unseen. Neither she nor Byleth had seen where everyone else had to sleep beforehand, and Byleth wonders if Edelgard regrets it now that they are stretched out side by side on a narrow wooden cot built into the wall, with another bunk above them and more lining the corridor. At least there are curtains that can be pulled for privacy, but the two of them only barely fit as is.

Theoretically, they could have bunks of their own - there aren't quite enough spaces for everyone to sleep alone, but they could have made some of their troops pair off instead. Hubert had suggested, when Edelgard wrung her hands with guilt over the idea of depriving any of her subjects their comfort, that the two of them share, and she had latched onto the idea with such enthusiasm that Byleth couldn't have turned her down if she tried.

Byleth does appreciate getting to lie so close. It feels slightly absurd to think about the number of times she'd turned down sharing far roomier beds in inns when this was, unknown to her, in her future. She has made life very difficult for herself. "I didn't realize."

"No. No, I wouldn't have told you." Edelgard keeps watching her intently, almost greedily, and Byleth is reminded again and again of her pulse and her heartbeat. She spent so much of her life without either that they still surprise her with their intensity sometimes. It was Edelgard who started her heart beating again, and it is nearly always Edelgard who rouses it to its quickest and most urgent pace. "During the day it's not so bad, but at night, I think about ... about drifting away. I don't know how to swim, so I would just - sink and no one would ever see me again."

"I wouldn't let that happen."

"I know," Edelgard says. "I know."

Byleth is already digging down at time when she says, "I'd turn back time as many times as I needed to keep you from that, don't worry." She erases the moment before it has a chance to finish. Edelgard stares at her, and she stays quiet instead.

"I find a great many of my fears easier to face with you." Edelgard smiles, the expression hopelessly soft. "I hope you feel the same."

"Yes," Byleth says. She fears she may be lying - not on purpose, but because she has not given much thought to what she fears. She used to fear her affection not being enough or not being returned or not being deserved - and that last still nags at her - but the first two are already in the past. She fears Edelgard's death, and fears losing her friends or having to turn against them. How ready she was to kill any of them just a year ago. Now there are people she wants very badly to protect and who she would dearly like to never betray or have betray her in turn. None of these are things Edeelgard can necessarily help with. "The thing I'm most scared of is probably - if I had to fight Hubert."

"Why would you fight Hubert?" Edelgard asks, laughing.

"I don't know." Byleth makes a face. "I don't want to, though."

"Well." Edelgard's smile is infectious; Byleth can't help but return it. "I will do everything in my power to ensure that never comes to pass."

"Good."

-

Byleth can't sleep that night, and though she thought she would never tire of looking at Edelgard, eventually restlessness gets the better of her. She kisses Edelgard's forehead, brushing her loose hair aside briefly just to get a better look at her in the deep gloom of belowdecks, then rolls out of bed. Immediately, she stumbles, off balance. The floor rolls gently underfoot as the ship cuts across the waves out at sea. It takes a few steps for her to get her feet back under her properly, bracing a hand against the wall. The hall is dark, lit by a single lantern near the stairs, and she creeps along past the sounds of people snoring and shifting in their sleep before climbing up on deck. 

There are a few sailors on watch and manning the sails, but even up here, it's quiet at night. The new moon marks the beginning of Wyvern Moon, and there's a chill to the breeze coming off the water. She makes her way, footing steadier now, toward the bow, leaning against the railing and looking out at the sky. It's hard to see where it stops and the ocean begins. If there's land in sight, she can't tell. There are stars except where there aren't, and the few stars do little to illuminate the world outside of the ship. Everything is vast and dark in a way that feels almost claustrophobic, reminding her of an empty void she was once trapped in - but there is a breeze and there are sailors quietly calling and talking to each other as they go about their work on deck, and the air smells like salt and seaweed. This is no void, unless the world itself is a void. She could dive off the ship and swim deep and find whatever it is that exists at the bottom of the ocean, or she could climb on the back of a pegasus and see how high the sky goes - there are so many places she has not and will never see, but all of them are full of things to explore, not just emptiness. Still: it's very dark.

After so much time spent at Garreg Mach and in Enbarr, this deep a darkness feels unfamiliar. Nights like this remind her of a childhood she only half-remembers, disconnected from any particular emotions, simply aware of the darkness of the forest around her, always listening for snapping twigs or the sounds of animals breathing or creeping or calling, listening to be sure no opposing forces were about to sneak up on the mercenary band.

She stays midship, leaning over the railing and looking out at the flat black of the water and the stars spread out across the sky like the fires of an approaching enemy army, camped for the night, that doesn't care who knows they're on the move.

Hyrm territory is a further trip, over land. They'll be there in only a few days, facing the unknown. They could all die, should those who slither in the dark decide to pull the stars down again and hurl those spears of sky-ligh at them - hopefully not; hopefully they won't be ready to destroy themselves quite so quickly as they were a captured fortress. This might not even be their ultimate hiding place. It could just be where one single agent lives and this whole mission could be a waste of time.

But - it was enough to make her finally surpass one of her most foolish fears, so whatever the result, it won't be a total waste. The depth of feeling Byleth has toward Edelgard is vast and paralytic.

-

Maybe an hour passes before Byleth's reverie is interrupted. "Ah, you couldn't sleep either."

She nods, turning to look at Felix, who stands next to hear near the railing with his arms folded. "I've never been on a ship at sea."

"It's strange, isn't it." Felix doesn't look at her, but he rarely does. "I haven't for a few years. Fraldarius doesn't - didn't - control the Faerghus navy, and I never - I could have gone on diplomatic missions to Dagda, but I refused."

"Ah."

"That was always Glenn's job." Felix rarely mentions Glenn to her. "I wanted nothing to do with it."

Byleth nods, looking away herself. "Understandable. Well. We're not going to Dagda now, if that's any comfort."

Felix huffs out a breath in something near a laugh. "I suppose. I just hope I find a worthy opponent."

Byleth smiles, at that. "I'm sure you will."

Felix steps back slightly, looking around - "Do you think we could spar?"

The deck isn't that populated, and there's space. Byleth considers asking someone for permission, then shrugs. "Sure. Let's."

They're both a little off, the rolling of the floor beneath them ruining their timing. It's almost fun, in a strange way, having a new variable thrown in to confuse an otherwise-familiar habit. Byleth can't count how many times she's sparred with Felix, at this point. His dedication to training is relentless.

He's managed to defeat her twice, over the span of their acquaintance - both at great cost to himself, and only just, but victories nonetheless. He doesn't win regularly, but his skill has increased enough that it's always a challenge. Fighting Felix, she finds herself unable to stop smiling, even with both of them thrown off balance by the movement of the ship. He seems flustered, while Byleth is just exhilirated. They haven't trained together enough lately. She enjoys fighting the way other people enjoy dancing - finding a rhythm, feeling out a partner, putting everything into the practiced movements and improvising whenever necessary.

When they fight, they don't talk, but enough is conveyed - Felix searching for weak points, Byleth demonstrating moves. Both of them prodding at weaknesses and exploring the other's skill and ability to predict what will happen next. Their blades meet and part as they circle each other, looking for openings. Battle makes for a much louder song, but practice and training like this still provides a beat - footsteps, the shifting of armor, the clash of blades. The rhythm of her own breath and heartbeat, and the way those line up with her opponent's. Fighting is so easy to sink into and forget the rest of the world.

Tonight, Byleth wins; she knocks Felix off his feet, pressing her foot to his chest, flat of her sword at his throat. He sighs heavily, resigned to his fate, and she reaches out a hand to help him up.

"I should sleep," Felix says, when he's finally on his feet again. "We'll need to be rested when we get there, for whatever it is we're going to face."

Byleth nods.

"Do you know what we'll see?"

"No idea." Byleth shakes her head, thoughtful. "Honestly, I'm frightened, but ... if we want to create a better world, we have to do this. So either we succeed and we can steer history, or we fail, and then it's out of our hands. I don't know if we'll find what we're looking for, or just - more clues. But either way. We find them, or we don't, and we keep moving forward either way."

Felix lowers his voice enough that Byleth nearly misses what he says next. "It's awful of me, but I almost hope we don't find them just yet. I don't know what I would do after we won."

"I don't either," Byleth admits, almost casually. She looks around, thne decides to sit down on the deck, leaning her back against a barrel. 

"Didn't you just propose to Edelgard?"

"Well, yes," Byleth says. "But I don't know what that means, in terms of - what I'll do with my time. My whole existence can't revolve around one person."

"I guess not."

"I mean, in a way, it already does." Byleth looks up at the sky. "I love her. But I don't want to just - be idle. I used to think I did. But now, with the actual prospect in front of me ... I don't know."

"It might not be so bad," Felix says after a moment. "You've been fighting your entire life."

"Yes."

"Maybe," Felix says, very slowly, hesitating over every word, and it is very clear he's not only talking about her, "Maybe it might be nice to take a break and do something else."

Byleth lets out a breath. "Maybe."

"I learned how to wield a sword before I learned how to read," Felix says after a long pause. He's told her this before, but she doesn't bring that up. Sometimes people like to repeat things. "Fraldarius was the shield of Faerghus, and there was always - well, Gautier and Sreng's constant disputes were always ... Even if I didn't want to inherit my household's responsibilities, if I had, there would always have been something to do. I could have found an excuse to take part in any battle I wanted to, and no one besides ..."

Byleth turns. Felix meets her eyes for a moment, then looks down.

"No one besides the boar would have tried to stop me, I don't think," Felix mumbles. "Even a bloodthirsty monster like him - but no. That was the prince I thought I knew. With how he was at the Tailtean Plains ... seeing that monster like that, even he wouldn't have stopped me. That's what Faerghus was, in the end. I'm glad it's gone. Even so."

"Not even Sylvain?"

"Maybe. He's an idiot." Felix looks down at the floor, eyes wandering across the warp of the wood. "I think he would just follow me until we both ended up dead."

"Ah. Maybe." Byleth pauses. "I think he'd prefer you alive."

"I know. But he doesn't prefer himself that way." Felix shakes his head, scowling suddenly. "I'm sorry. I'm getting too sentimental. I always try to look forward, instead of back, but - there's such a thing as too far forward. No use thinking about it now. I don't have time to be haunted by - by not knowing what I'm going to do."

"Well. If it's any comfort, I won't have a purpose either." Byleth falls quiet again, then, finally, shifts her weight - not quite getting up, but shuffling a little closer to Felix and opening up her arms.

Felix stares at her, looking vaguely horrified until she pulls him into a hug. He's frozen, at first, then relaxes. She's never hugged him. She's not sure she's ever hugged anyone, actually, besides Edelgard. She's carried wounded comrades off the battlefield, but the only fight here is internal. Gradually, hesitantly, like a wild animal on a cautious approach, Felix puts his arms around her, too. Eventually he's clinging more tightly to her than she is to him. She rubs his back, because she's seen people do that before.

Eventually Felix pulls back, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. "I should get some sleep."

"I probably should, too." She heads back belowdecks without further conversation. Edelgard is, thankfully, still asleep, though now sprawled out across the whole of the cot, and Byleth has to nudge her a bit to get her to share. Edelgard stirs only briefly, squinting one eye open and smiling at her before falling back asleep.

It takes a long time before Byleth gets back to sleep, but having Edelgard so near, knowing she's wanted there and that the sight of her makes Edelgard smile - that, at least, keeps her thoughts from getting as dark as they otherwise might.

-

The boat skims along the surface of the water like a hunting wyvern, the weather holding clear over the next few days as they round the coast at Boramas Point and hook up toward Aegir. The wind favors their voyage.

To get to Hyrm, they have to ride past the coast off Gronder, too; everyone's mood darkens, collectively, at that, even the sailors and soldiers. Probably some of them were at Gronder, too, or if they weren't, lost friends, loved ones, family. Everyone lost something, there, even if they never went.

Next year's harvest is likely to be a good one, at least. They fed the field well with blood and bone. The plows will turn the soil and uncover bones and weapons and maybe some lucky farmhand will find something valuable enough to sell and make it rich and get to finally move somewhere far away with fewer bad memories. The wheat will grow tall, the carrots deep, the tomatoes fat and red. If there are flowering trees, surely their blossoms will bloom pink for years to come. 

For now, the coastline is visible in the mid-day sun. The leaves are just starting to turn, quicker here than down in Enbarr, the climate a little cooler, better suited toward the vast agricultural output.

Byleth sits near the helm, watching the deck. Some of their hired soldiers are practicing - two of them taking on Felix at once, with Felix looking pleased by the challenge and still roundly defeating them both in short order. Hubert and Edelgard are in quiet conversation, staying far from the railings. They have a map spread out on top of a barrel and keep gesturing toward it. Byleth could join them, but - it's nice, seeing everyone preparing, even though they don't know what awaits them.

Eventually, Edelgard notices her watching, and looks up, smiling. Byleth's cheeks heat up and she waves, and then Edelgard says something to Hubert before making her way over.

"I know it's not logical, but I can't help but feel that this is it," Edelgard says, sitting down by her side, their hips pressed together. "That I'll finally have my revenge."

"I feel it too."

"After Fort Merceus, Hubert started working on trying to track where those ..." Edelgard pauses, searching for a word. No one's quite managed to put a name to what happened to the supposedly impregnable fort. "Where the weapon they used to destroy the fort came from. He couldn't pinpoint the magical signature, exactly, but he says it's from the same direction we're going. So it is - very likely we're on the right track."

"If we're that certain, maybe we should have taken more troops," Byleth says, thoughtful.

"I don't think so." Edelgard looks at her, and Byleth's attention is fully captured by the light in her eyes and the steadfast determination of her expression. Much as she loves to see Edelgard smile, there is still something compelling in seeing the emperor focused and driven, wholly dedicated to a goal she believes in. The intensity draws Byleth in and she latches on to that determination, taking it as her own, letting it drive her as well. Their goals don't always align, not fully, but - Byleth has always been very good at being led and doing what is expected of her, and she can give that much to Edelgard. "If we took a larger force, they might launch that weapon again, at either the army, or Enbarr itself. With a small strike force - I don't think their forces are very large, honestly. Not with how they've worked these past years. I think we have a chance."

On the deck, Felix is sparring with Sylvain now, the both of them laughing about something even as they beat the tar out of each other. Other soldiers are alternately sparring or relaxing and cheering their comrades on. Hubert is now locked in conversation with the captain Li Zhao, who should probably be at the helm. Still, the ship is going the right direction and the wind is at their backs. 

"Without my Crest, without the Sword of the Creator ..." Byleth hesitates, then shakes her head. "Well, you have Aymr, Sylvain has the Lance of Ruin. We've got that much going for us."

"You didn't need the sword when you were a mercenary," Edelgard says, turning slightly, gathering Byleth's hands in hers and holding tightly. The fabric of her gloves is ever so soft. Byleth looks down at their joined hands, and some amount of tension drains out of her when she finally remembers to exhale and breathe again. "Even without those things, your mind still works. You're still an incredibly skilled sword fighter, and your magic ..."

"Isn't as strong," Byleth admits. She hasn't had to think about it much the past few months, spent mostly off the battlefield, mostly out of any meaningful combat. It's not - she finds it harder to call on in any significant capacity, since her heart began to beat. It had gotten suddenly stronger after Sothis merged with her, and now it's a flicker of what it was. Still: she can call a flame when she needs to. She can heal passably well - better than anyone else in their current party, at least. (Sylvain can, just barely, but he's not especially good at it. It's better than nothing. Maybe their combined mediocrity will be enough.) Unless one of the soldiers they hired on can secretly heal, she's going to be the one to rely on; her, and a supply of vulneraries and other concoctions.

"Even so. I've seen you train."

Byleth finally looks up again, meeting her eyes. "If you believe in me, then I suppose I'll have to succeed."

"Hm?"

"I wouldn't want to let you down," Byleth says, and kisses her on the cheek, her mind made up now. She can still turn back time, and she still knows how to swing a blade. 

"My hero," Edelgard says, and Byleth always wants to see her smiling like that.

**Author's Note:**

> please come hang out and yell about fe3h with me on social media; i'm @aflightybroad on twitter and @aflightybroad@goblin.camp on mastodon!!
> 
> comments are eternally loved and appreciated if you happen to have the time ;w;


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